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NUMBER  ONE 


WILD  BIRDS 

DAN  TOTHERDH 


GIFT  OF 
Hearst     Fountain 


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Greek  Theatre  Publications   Number  One 


WILD  BIRDS 

A   Play  in  Three  Acts 
By   Dan  Totheroh 


First  Produced  in 
Wheeler  Hall,  University  of  California 

March  25,  1922 
Under  the  direction  of  Irving  Pichel 


Editorial  Board 
Charles  Mills  Gayley 
Max  Radin 
Stephen  C.  Pepper 

x 

Greek  Theatre 
University  of  California 

Berkeley,  California 
Samuel  J.  Hume,  Director 


Copyright   1922 

by 
Dan  Totheroh 


For  information  Regarding  Royalty 
and  Rights  of  Performance  Address 

Samuel  J.  Hume 
303  California  Hall 
Berkeley,  California 


Published   by 
Greek    Theatre    Press 

2307  Telegraph  Avenue 
Berkeley,  California 


INTRODUCTION 


There  are  several  obvious  statements  that  may 
be  made  about  the  drama.  It  is  an  art  form  of 
the  highest  potentialities.  Two  great  literatures — 
Greek  and  English — find  the  consummation  of  their 
achievement  in  plays.  It  is  preeminently  the  social 
form  of  art.  No  other  aspect  of  art  has  so  direct 
an  appeal  to  large  masses  of  men — indeed,  in  a 
very  real  sense,  it  is  a  group  product,  a  mass  per 
formance.  And  finally,  the  English  drama  was  until 
recently,  and  largely  remains,  corrupt  and  corrupting. 

This  decay  of  a  great  form  of  social  art,  a  decay 
\vhich  specially  characterized  the  nineteenth  century 
in  England  and  America,  was  implicit  in  the  very 
traditions  of  the  drama.  These  were  both  the  high 
est  and  the  lowest  conceivable.  The  greatest  men 
might  write  plays, — in  fact,  had  demonstrably  done 
so.  Had  not  Julius  Caesar  written  a  tragedy,  mer 
cifully  suppressed  by  his  heir  and  successor?  But 
only  the  lowest  elements  of  human  society  produced 
plays.  Acting,  and  the  management  of  scenes  meant 
the  application  of  one's  bodily  activities  to  the  amuse 
ment  of  others.  That  seemed  a  human  degradation 
and  possible  only  to  men  already  degraded.  And 
the  lower  tradition  triumphed.  It  is  the  producer 
who  must  in  the  nature  of  things  become  the  chief 
dramatist.  Great  writers  are  rare  but  the  public 
will  have  its  plays  week  in  and  week  out.  So  the 

438908 


4  WILD  BIRDS 

man  that  performed  parts  or  made  others  do  so. 
had  to  write  himself  parts  to  perform. 

It  became  a  sorry  enough  business.  What  could 
he  do  but  repeat  the  parts  that  he  remembered  had 
aroused  applause,  multiply  situations  that  had  been 
accepted,  and,  knowing  that  public  interest  varies, 
treat  the  variations  as  purely  capricious  and  the 
theatre  as  an  amusing  form  of  gambling?  And  the 
result  was  that  several  generations  of  English  speak 
ing  playgoers  dulled  their  sensibilities  and  imperilled 
their  artistic  souls  by  a  dramatic  literature  of  which 
the  best  was,  let  us  say,  Robertson's  Caste,  and  the 
worst  was  quite  too  bad  to  mention. 

What  has  arrested  the  process  of  decay?  The 
coming  of  a  great  dramatic  genius  could  have  done 
so.  After  all,  there  was  a  Shakespeare.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Shaw  believes  that  a  great  dramatic  genius  did 
come  to  the  English  stage  in  the  1890's.  But  ap 
parently  something  better  and  more  promising  hap 
pened. 

The  production  of  plays  had  ceased  to  be  a 
contaminating  craft  and  had  become  a  lucrative 
trade, — a  transformation  that  did  little  for  its  moral 
or  artistic  growth — and,  at  last,  here  and  there, 
gentlemen,  first  in  England,  then  in  America,  made 
the  experiment  of  treating  this  most  ancient,  most 
social  and  perhaps  loftiest  of  the  arts,  as  though  it 
possessed  an  artistic  basis  and  served  an  artistic 
end.  That  is  to  say,  they  presented  plays  with  avowed 
indifference  to  any  other  result  than  the  production 
of  something  as  fine  as  they  could  make  it.  If  the 
public  was  entertained,  that  was  good.  If  the  pro- 


INTRODUCTION  5 

ducer  was  enriched,  that  was  not  to  be  despised. 
But  titillating  public  taste,  especially  a  bad  public 
taste,  was  not  part  of  their  program.  In  other 
words,  the  evil  tradition  that  made  an  actor  a 
mountebank  and  a  producer  a  purveyor  of  pleasures, 
was  to  be  deliberately  disregarded. 

All  that  these  men  needed  was  material.  They 
wanted  good  plays.  And  the  extraordinary  thing 
was  that  they  found  them.  Translation  and  imita 
tion  gave  them  some.  Invention  gave  them  more. 
No  one  of  these  plays,  it  may  be  admitted,  has  quite 
the  quality  of  Hamlet  or  King  Oedipus.  But  ten  fairly 
good  plays  are  written  now  for  one  that  was  written 
thirty  years  ago  and  the  result  is  due  to  the  move 
ment  that  began  in  the  90's  in  England,  the  move 
ment  to  free  the  theatre  from  the  tradition  which 
makes  it  the  substitute  for  the  mediaeval  cock-pit, 
and  to  reaffirm  the  tradition  that  makes  it  the  great 
synthetic  art  through  which  the  people  in  a  mass 
can  receive  the  highest  emotional  exaltation. 

We  are  far  indeed  from  having  reached  that 
goal.  In  the  minds  of  many  the  theatre  is  still 
primarily  a  purveyor  of  gratifications,  an  amusement 
parlor.  The  movement  to  remedy  this  is  slow  and 
its  success  problematic.  But  it  is  precisely  this 
movement  that  the  Greek  Theatre  of  the  University 
of  California  was  designed  to  forward.  Seconding 
the  work  of  the  Little  Theatres  throughout  the 
country,  the  Greek  Theatre  has  sought  during  each 
academic  term  to  present  plays  of  varying  types 
and  sources;  basing  its  selection,  in  every  instance, 
on  the  play's  merit.  The  response  of  the  audiences 


6  WILD  BIRDS 

has  been  most  gratifying.  It  is  evident  that  the 
public  wishes  to  see  good  plays  and  is  only  prevented 
from  attending  them  by  the  fact  that  commercial 
producers  rarely  produce  them. 

However,  the  Greek  Theatre  has  a  function  of 
a  more  special  character.  Drama,  as  an  article  of 
commerce,  has  gone  through  the  regular  stages  of 
business  development.  Hucksters  became  traders, 
traders  became  companies  and  companies  became 
syndicates.  The  wrong  tradition,  the  evil  tradition 
of  the  stage,  became  capitalized,  and  standardized 
and  centralized.  Not  the  least  valuable  part  of 
the  movement  represented  by  the  Little  Theatres 
is  the  breach  it  seeks  to  make  in  this  entrenched 
abuse.  Art  is  essentially  individual,  and  a  group 
art  such  as  the  drama,  is  not  an  exception.  Here, 
however,  it  is  the  individual  group  that  is  the  unit. 
If  in  every  part  of  the  country,  groups  are  at  work 
freely  unfolding  themselves  under  local  conditions, 
giving  the  fullest  scope  to  the  powers  of  their  mem 
bers,  an  art  will  be  made  possible  that  will  be  the 
resultant  of  the  many  individual  tendencies  undoubt 
edly  existing. 

That  is  what  the  Greek  Theatre  would  like  to 
effect.  Its  actual  production  is  the  cooperative 
result  of  a  group.  More  and  more  that  group  will 
become  coextensive  with  the  state,  whose  agency  the 
Greek  Theatre  is.  But  while  that  lies  in  the  future, 
the  cooperation  of  the  whole  state  can  be  elicited 
at  once  in  at  least  one  respect. 

-The-  Greek  Theatre  needs  plays.  It  needs  good 
plays.  It  will  take  them  wherever  it  can  get  them. 


INTRODUCTION 

It  may  go  to  China  for  some,  to  Berlin  for  others, 
to  Birmingham  or  Greenwich  Village  for  still  others. 
And  it  would  like  to  make  some  for  itself.  It  would 
like  by  its  organization  to  give  a  scope  for  those 
who  in  California  have  the  power  to  create  dramas. 
The  first  step  in  that  direction  was  the  Prize 
Competition  organized  last  year  in  which  more  than 
eighty  plays  were  submitted.  The  successful  play 
is  the  one  which  opens  this  series,  WILD  BIRDS, 
by  Mr.  Dan  Totheroh,  to  be  produced  in  Wheeler 
Hall  at  the  University  of  California  campus,  in 
Berkeley. 

But  prize  plays  and  their  production  form  only 
the  first  step.  The  second  step  is  the  organization 
of  the  series  of  which  this  is  the  first  number.  Only 
one  play  can  receive  a  prize,  but  many  may  have 
merits  that  entitle  them  to  a  higher  recognition 
than  that  of  having  honorably  competed.  The 
Greek  Theatre  wishes  for  itself  and  for  those  other 
dramatic  agencies  fighting  the  good  fight  throughout 
the  country,  to  render  available  whatever  of  special 
ized  dramatic  ability  the  State  of  California  pos 
sesses.  With  or  without  competitions,  it  is  intended 
to  publish  plays  written  by  residents  of  the  state 
for  production  by  the  Greek  Theatre  organization. 
Not  all  such  plays  will  be  presented,  but  their 
publication  will,  it  is  trusted,  be  in  itself  a  valuable 
achievement  and  stimulate  further  production. 

EDITORIAL  BOARD 

CHARLES  MILLS  GAYLEY 
MAX  RADIN 
STEPHEN  PEPPER 


8  WILD  BIRDS 

CHARACTERS 
JOHN  SLAG,  a  Homesteader. 
MRS.  SLAG,  his  wife. 
CORIE  SLAG,  their  daughter. 
MAZIE. 

ADAM  LARSEN. 
MILT  POLLARD. 
SANDY  ROBERTS. 
ESTHEY,   his  daughter. 
GEORGE  MARSHALL. 
A  TRAMP. 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PREACHER. 

SCENES 

ACT  1. 

SCENE  1 — Before  the  Slag  homestead  on  prairie  land 

in  the   Middle-West.      Early   Spring. 
SCENE  2 — The  same.    A  week  later.    The  evening  of 
Corie   Slag's  marriage  to  Milt  Pollard. 

ACT  2. 
SCENE  1 — The  same — about  a  month  and  a  half  later. 

Spring  at  the   full. 
SCENE  2 — Outside  the  tent  of  the  Evangelical  Camp 

Meeting.     That  evening. 
SCENE  3 — Far  out  on  the  Prairie.     Later  that  night. 

ACT  3. 
SCENE  1 — The  same  as  Acts  1  and  2.     Five  months 

later.     Late   Fall. 
SCENE  2 — Adam's  room  in  the  attic,  a  little  before 

dawn,  the  next  morning. 

SCENE  3 — The   outside  of   the   house   again.     About 
ten  minutes  later.     Dawn. 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  9 

ACT   1. 

SCENE  1. 

SCENE  1 — A  clearing  before  the  SLAG  homestead,  on 
prairie  land  in  the  Middle-West.  The  house  is 
right,  just  the  very  front  of  it  in  view,  a  long, 
low  building  crudely  constructed,  the  cracks 
between  the  rough  boards  plastered  with  mud. 
A  snake  fence  runs  across  the  back  of  the  stage, 
beyond  which  is  a  winding  road  and  beyond  that 
great  stretches  of  prairie  land,  now  delicately 
tinted  with  the  green  of  early  Spring.  There 
are  three  or  four  benches  before  the  house  and 
a  barrel  rocker. 

It  is  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  air,  which  has  been  warmed  by  the  first  real 
day  of  sun  after  a  long,  hard  winter,  is  turning 
cold  again. 

CORIE  SLAG,  a  thin,  irritable  looking  girl  with  scrag- 
gly  blond  hair,  is  leaning  on  the  snake  fence 
looking  up  the  road,  left.  She  wears  a  print 
dress  and  her  feet  are  bare. 

MRS.  SLAG  enters  from  the  house  carrying  a  wooden 
water  bucket.  She  is  a  lank,  worn  woman  with 
stooped  shoulders  and  thin  gray  hair.  CORIE 
resembles  her,  having  the  same  straight,  thin- 
lipped  mouth  and  pale  blue  eyes,  a  milky  blue. 

MRS.    SLAG    (going    toward    the    well,    which   is    off 
stage,  left)  : 
What  air   you   lookin'   at,   Corie? 

CORIE  : 

I  thought  that  might  be  Milt  comin'. 


.•10: :  .•:  •.;:  ;*•/:; ;    •  WILD  BIRDS 

,  *  •  *   •      •  •    •     *         ••••*• 

MRS.    SLAG    (changing   her   direction   and   coming   to 
the  fence)  : 

It  can't  be  Milt  this  time  of  day.  He  couldn't 
leave  his  plowin'.  Days  like  this  air  too  scarce. 
(looking  up  the  road)  No,  that  hain't  him. 
Too  tall  fer  him.  Wonder  who  it  air? 

CORIE  : 

He  air  walkin'  mad-like  with  his  arms  swingin'. 

MRS.  SLAG   (shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands)  : 
I  do  believe  it  air  the  new  hired  man.     What's 
he   stopped   plowin'    so   early   fer?     It   hain't   like 
John  to  be  lettin'  him  stop  so  early. 

CORIE  : 

Maybe   somethin's   happened. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Maybe  so.  (raising  her  hand  and  calling)  :  Hey,. 
George  Marshall,  what's  happened? 

(There  is  no   reply  from  the  road.) 

CORIE  : 

He's  a  queer  one.  I  didn't  like  him  when  paw 
hired  him.  You  can't  tell  about  these  folks  that 
come  in  off  the  road. 

MRS.   SLAG  : 

I  didn't  take  to  him  neither.  I  told  John  I  didn't. 
He  had  a  way  of  lookin'  sharp  with  his  eyes 
that  I  didn't  like.  It  was  like  he  was  tryin' 
to  find  things  out  about  you. 

CORIE  : 

He  was  talkin'  early  this  mornin'  to  Mazie.  I 
heard  him  when  I  was  gettin'  dressed.  Mazie 
was  washin'  the  milk  buckets  at  the  well  an' 
between  the  swishin'  of  water,  I  could  hear  him 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  11 

talkin'  an'  her  answerin'  back  in  that  soft,  de- 
ceivin'  way  of  hers. 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

It's  his  kind  Mazie  draws  to  her  like  flies  after 
syrup  drip.  They  kinda  know  what  she  air  'fore 
we  tell  'em.  Hey,  George  Marshall,  what's 
happened  ? 

(Enter  George  Marshall,  a  tall,  plain- faced  man  with 
keen  gray  eyes.  He  is  about  forty-five,  an  out 
door-man,  tanned  and  strong.) 

GEORGE  MARSHALL    (calmly)  : 

Nothin'   has   happened.      I   air   quitting   that's   all. 

MRS.  SLAG: 
What  fer? 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

That  man  of  your'n  air  a  devil.  I  can't  work 
with  him.  I  air  a  peaceful  man,  Mrs.  Slag. 
I  go  about  the  country  workin'  here  an'  thar — 
plowin',  sowin',  harvestin' — I  like  wanderin'— 
seein'  country  an'  folks — I  like  people — but  I 
cannot  stand  your  man,  Mrs.  Slag.  He  air  a 
hard  man  with  hard  ways.  He  air  a  driver  of 
men.  (going  toward  the  house)  I  air  goin'  to 
git  my  things  from  John  Slag's  attic  an'  then 
I  air  hittin'  the  road  agin. 

MRS.   SLAG: 

You  hain't  treatin'  John  Slag  right.  He's  got 
to  git  that  plowin'  done  right  off  an'  that  seed 
in  while  these  nice  days  air  lastin'. 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

I  hev  never  left  a  man  in  the  lurch  before.  I 
hev  got  a  clean  record  all  through  the  Middle- 


12  WILD  BIRDS 

West  with  farmers  an'  homesteaders  but  John 
Slag  can't  raise  the  hoss  whip  agin  me  an'  call 
my  mother  a  name  like  he  did.  (On  the  steps  of 
the  house)  Mrs.  Slag,  your  man  should  hev 
lived  in  the  days  before  the  Civil  War  an'  owned 
slaves.  Then  he  could  hev  beaten  'em  when 
ever  he  wanted  an'  they  couldn't  hev  quit  him, 
like  me. 

MRS.    SLAG    (blood   flushing   her  face}  : 

You  air  an  insultin'  man,   George  Marshall ! 

CORIE   (hatefully)  : 

I  wish  paw  had  hit  you  with  the  hoss  whip ! 

GEORGE  MARSHALL  (smiling  gently)  : 

I  hev  put  my  foot  inter  a  nest  of  rattlers.  Now 
I  must  git  out  quick  before  I  git  bitten. 

(He   exits   inside   the   house.) 

MRS.   SLAG    (lifting    up   the  'bucket)  : 
What  will  John  do  now  fer  help? 

CORIE   (shrugging  her  shoulders)  : 

Oh,   somebody  else  will   come  along. 

MRS.   SLAG    (doubtfully)  : 

Labor  air  scarce  this  year.  Men  air  goin'  inter 
the  cities  to  work.  That's  what  the  "Gazette" 
says. 

CORIE  : 

Waal,  thar's  one  thing  sartain.  /  hain't  goin' 
to  help  with  the  plowin'  like  I  did  once.  I  hain't 
strong  enough  an'  besides  Milt  don't  want  me 
to  be  gettin'  all  stooped  over.  He  wants  a  wife 
what  he  kin  be  proud  of  to  show  'round  an' 
take  to  fairs,  tent  meetin's  an'  places. 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  13 

MRS.    SLAG    (exiting   toward   the  well)  : 

Of  course,  Corie,  your  paw  an'  me  wouldn't 
think  of  sich  a  thing. 

CORIE  : 

Mazie  air  strong  an'  thar  hain't  nobody  marryin' 
her.  ( CORIE  giggles  at  the  very  idea.) 

MRS.   SLAG  : 

No,  I  hain't  seein'  suitors  breakin'  thar  necks 
to  git  at  her.  (She  takes  a  few  steps  away)  Now 
that  George  Marshall  air  leavin'  thar  won't  be 
so  much  cookin'.  \Yaal,  we'll  see  when  John 
comes.  (She  exits). 

CORIE  comes  down  to  a  bench  and  sits  there.) 

(Enter  from  the  rear  of  the  house,  MAZIE.  She  is 
a  small,  quick-moving  girl  with  masses  of  black 
hair  that  she  wears  in  a  thick  braid  down  her 
back.  It  is  such  heary  hair  that  it  seems  to  tilt 
her  head,  raising  her  little  white  chin  and  swelling 
the  soft  line  of  her  throat,  like  the  throat  of  a 
wild  bird  that  sings.  SJie  has  a  wistful,  search 
ing  expression  in  her  eyes  that  are  deeply  brown 
and  deeply  set.  Her  dress  is  of  coarse  brown 
home-spun  and  her  little  feet  are  bare.  Her 
cheeks  are  flushed  from  bending  over  the  store 
in  the  I  can-to.) 

MAZIE  : 

Hello,  Corie.  The  grass  air  come  on  the  prairie 
agin.  (She  knows  that  Corie  doesn't  care  about 
the  grass  on  the  prairie,  but  she  must  talk 
about  the  miracle  to  some  one.  Inwardly  she 
is  bubbling  over.) 


14  WILD  BIRDS 

CORIE   (not  looking  at  her)  : 

You  better  be  careful  an'  don't  burn  things  to 
night.  Paw  air  goin'  to  be  ornery. 

MAZIE   (taking  a  little,  untrained  dance  step  behind 
Corie)  : 

Jist  think  Corie,  I  air  seventeen  now.  At  least 
I  air  pruty  near  to  it.  I  will  be  seventeen  by 
the  night  you  air  married. 

CORIE    (smiling  sneeringly)  : 

How  do  you  know  how  old  you  air? 

MAZIE  : 

I  asked  Aunt  Martie.  She  said  I  would  be 
seventeen  by  next  week. 

CORIE  : 

Yes,  but  nobody  knows  really  how  old  you  air. 
How  kin  anybody  be  sure  when  your  maw  air 
dead  long  time  ago  an'  you  never  had  no  father? 

MAZIE    (simply)  : 

I  did  have  a   father — but  he  didn't  want  me. 

CORIE  : 

Who's  been  tellin'  you  things? 

MAZIE  : 

Nobody.  I  jest  figgered  it  out.  I  air  seventeen 
now,  Corie,  an'  I  air  beginnin'  to  understand 
things.  All  by  myself  I  air  beginnin'  to  under 
stand  things. 

CORIE   (irritably)  : 

You  don't  know  what  you're  talkin'  about.  Go 
back  inter  the  house  or  I'll  tell  maw. 

MAZIE  : 

I  think  I'll  git  to  know  lots  of  things  now  that 
Mr.  Marshall  air  livin'  here.  He  will  tell  me 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  15 

things  that  would  take  me  a  long  time  to  figger 
out  by  myself. 

CORIE    (laughing)  : 

He's  up  in  the  attic  now,  gettin'  ready  to  go. 
Lot's  he'll  be  tellin'  you. 

MAZIE  (her  face  falling)  : 
Why  air   he   leavin' ? 

CORIE  : 

Paw  fired  him.     He  air  no  good. 

MAZIE: 

I  air  sorry.     (She  blinks  back  tears.) 

CORIE  : 

What  air  you  cryin'  about?  You  never  spoke 
to  him  afore  this  mornin'.  I  heard  you  while 
you  was  washin'  the  milk  buckets. 

MAZIE  : 

I  never  spoke  to  him  afore  this  mornin' — but  it 
air  like  I  hev  known  him  a  long,  long  time. 

CORIE   (rising)  : 

You  air  crazy.  (She  goes  to  the  fence  and  looks 
up  the  road).  Don't  you  wish  you  was  goin'  to 
meet  a  fine  lover  like  Milt  at  sundown  by  the 
creek  willers  an'  go  walkin'  with  him?  (She 
struts  away  up  the  road,  her  hands  indolently 
on  her  lean  hips.) 

(GEORGE  MARSHALL  re-enters  from  the  house  carry 
ing  a  battered  suitcase.) 

GEORGE  MARSHALL   (tenderly)  : 

Waal,  you  hev  come  out  of  the  kitchen  to  say 
goodbye  to  me,  hev  you? 

MAZIE  : 

I  did  not  know  you  was  goin'  till  Corie  told  me. 


16  WILD  BIRDS 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

I  air  glad  we  hev  had  one  talk  together  anyhow. 
I'll  remember  the  little  wild  bird  I  hev  found — 

MAZIE  (thrilled)  : 

Little  wild  bird!     Me? 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

Yes.  Little  wild  bird — trapped.  Sometime  I 
might  come  back  an'  open  the  trap.  What  do 
you  say? 

MAZIE   (going  to  him)  : 

Air  you  really  meanin'  that? 

GEORGE  MARSHALL    (taking  her  hand}  : 

Believe   in   me,   Mazie.     An'   now   goodbye. 

(He    stoops    and    kisses    her    brow,    first    smoothing 
back  the  heavy  hair.) 

MAZIE  : 

I  will  watch  fer  your  face  in  the  well — among  the 
stars.  Once  I  saw  my  mother's  face.  It  was 
white.  It  only  stayed  a  minute.  I  will  watch 
fer  your  face. 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

What  well   do  you  mean,  Mazie  ? 

MAZIE   (pointing  off  left)  : 

Over  thar,  underneath  the  big  tree.  It  air  round 
like  the  world  is.  I  like  to  look  down  it.  It 
air  black,  most  of  the  time,  but  at  night  I  hev 
seen  stars  in  it.  ... 

GEORGE  MARSHALL  : 

If  you  kin  find  my  face  thar  among  the  stars 
an'  whar  your  mother's  face  was,  I  would  be 
glad.  Walk  as  fer  as  the  willers  with  me,  Mazie. 

(He   takes  her  hand  and  they   exit,   MAZTE  zvalking 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  17 

with  her  head  back,  looking  at  him.} 

(Enter  MRS.  SLAG  carrying  the  wooden  water  bucket 
full  of  greens.  With  her  is  SANDY  ROBERTS,  an 
eccentric  old  neighbor  with  disheveled  white  hair 
and  small  brown  eyes  with  a  half -mad  glint  in 
them. ) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

An'  I  was  sayin',  Sandy,  that  he  air  quittin'.  By 
now  he  must  be  gone. 

SANDY : 

An'  the  locust  come  down  that  night,  Mrs.  Slag, 
an'  et  every  blade  of  corn  in  them  ten  acres  jest 
clean  as  a  whistle.  I  remember  gettin'  up  that 
mornin'  an'  lookin'  out  whar  thar  was  miles  of 
green  at  sundown — an'  at  sunup  thar  was  nothin'. 

MRS.  SLAG  (impatiently)  : 

I've  heard  you  tell  about  them  locust  fifty  times, 
Sandy. 

SANDY : 

But  here's  a  new  one.  I  air  rememberin'  the  time 
when  I  was  no  higher'n  that  (indicating  with  his 
hand)  when  the  winter  on  these  prairies  was  so 
hard  that  the  wolves  come  down  to  the  houses 
from  the  hills  an'  tried  to  tear  away  the  logs  to 
git  at  us  an'  eat  us.  No  wonder  folks  sez  I'm 
crazy  when  all  the  time  I'm  rememberin'  sich 
things  an'  kin  hear  wolves  howlin'  at  night. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

You  hev  tol'  that  story,  too,  a  thousand  times. 
Yon  better  git  home  to  Esthey.  I  hev  lots  to  do. 
I  hain't  got  no  time  to  listen  to  yer  crazy  notions. 
(She  moves  impatiently  toward  the  house.) 


18  WILD  BIRDS 

(Enter,  on  the  road,  ESTHEY  KEN  YON,  his  daughter, 
a  woman  about  thirty-five,  gaunt  and,  zvork-worn.) 

ESTHEY: 

Oh,  thar  you  air !  I've  been  huntitr  all  over  fer 
you  paw.  You've  got  to  stop  this  runnin'  away! 
Has  he  been  botherin1  you,  Mrs.  Slag? 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

Waal,  I  don't  usually  listen  to  him  half  the  time 
but  he  did  git  on  my  nerves  today  cause  our'n 
new  hired  man  jest  quit  us  an'  I'm  worried  to 
know  what  John's  goin'  to  do  fer  help. 

ESTHEY: 

Was  that  him  I  jest  passed  on  the  road  walkin' 
with  Mazie? 

MRS.  SLAG  (excited)  : 
Whar  was  they? 

ESTHEY  : 

Goin'  toward  the  creek  road.  I  met  'em  this  side 
of  the  willers. 

MRS.  SLAG  (up  to  the  road  and  looking  off  left)  : 
I   was   skeered   o'   this!   (Shading    her   eyes   with 
her   hand)      Thar   they   air,   standin'   in   the   road 
talkin'  by  the  willers.      (Cupping  her  mouth  with 
her  hands.)     Mazie!    Mazie!     You  come  on  back! 

ESTHEY  (going  up  to  her)  : 

Did  he  ever  hire  out  to  you  afore,  Mrs.   Slag? 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

No.  Not  that  I  recollect  (making  an  imperative 
gesture  with  her  arm) .  You  hurry  now  ! 

ESTHEY  : 

Seems  to  me  like  I've  seen  him  afore.  He  gave 
me  a  kind  of  start  when  I  looked  at  him.  You 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  19 

know  how  it  air  when  you  smell  a  sartain  kind 
of  flower,  it  brings  you  back  to  a  sartain  place, 
a  corner  of  a  back  yard  whar  you  played  when 
you  war  little  or  a  garden  walk,  or  somethin'? 
Waal,  his  face  brought  back  to  me  the  corner  of 
the  graveyard  above  Big  Rock.  1  could  see  a 
funeral,  on  a  hot  day 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

Thar's  somethin'  I  don't  like  about  him  an'  in  a 
way  I'm  glad  he  quit. 

ESTHEY  : 

This  funeral  was  a  long  time  ago.  It  was  the 
funeral  of  a  young  girl  who  committed  suicide. 
It  was  afore  you  come  West,  Mrs.  Slag.  Seems 
to  me  that  hired  man  of  your'n  was  at  that 
funeral.  It  was  a  poor  funeral.  Thar  was  no 
flowers  an'  thar  never  was  no  stone.  My,  it  was 
a  hot  day,  I  remember.  Pete  an'  me  was  drivin' 
past  in  a  buggy.  We  stopped  an'  watched.  If 
I  hain't  mistaken  this  hired  man  was  kneelin' 
near  the  fence,  pruty  far  from  the  grave.  Of 
course,  I  hain't  sure  it  was  him.  It  was  so  long 
ago  an'  he  was  lots  younger,  but  the  eyes  was  the 
same. 

(Enter  MAZIE.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Take  these   here  greens   an'   git   inter   the   house ! 

(MAZIE  silently  takes  tlie  bucket  and  e.rits.) 

SANDY : 

He,  he,  I  air  rememberin'  the  time  when  we 
crossed  the  river  through  the  flood,  after  the 
snows,  an'  the  hosses  went  down 


20  WILD  BIRDS 

ESTHEY  (taking  his  arm)  : 

Come  on  back  now,  paw !     Sun  air  most  down  an' 

you'll  take  cold  an'  then  I'll  hev  to  be  waitin'  on 

you.     Come  on  now  ! 
SANDY : 

No,  no !     Mrs.  Slag  wants  to  hear  how  the  hosses 

went  down — kickin'   an'   squealin' — 
ESTHEY  (pulling  at  him)  : 

You  come  on  or  I'll  lock  you  up  agin  in  the  shed 

in  the  dark! 
SANDY  (almost  screaming)  : 

No,  no,  not  in  the  shed  agin,  Esthey!     Not  yer 

ol*  paw  in  the  shed  agin !     Please — please,  Esthey ! 

Not  in  the  dark  shed! 
MRS.  SLAG   (laughing)  : 

Good  fer  you,   Esthey.     You've  got  him   skeered 

all  right. 
SANDY : 

Please,    please,    little    Esthey!      Not    in   the    dark 

shed !     Not  yer  ol'  paw  in  the  dark  shed ! 

ESTHEY  : 

Then  you  jest  come  along  home!  (exiting  with 
him}  Goodbye,  Mrs.  Slag.  Hope  you  find  a  new 
hand. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

If  we  don't  I  don't  see  how  we  kin  git  the  seed 
sowed.  Oh,  here's  John. 

(JOHN  SLAG,  a  great  hulk  of  a  man  with  a  scraggly, 
iron-gray  beard  and  small,  cruel  eyes,  enters  by 
the  road,  left,  carrying  a  sack  of  seed  over  his 
square  shoulders.  PJis  heavy  brows  are  draivn 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  21 

together  in   a   fearful  frown   and   a   huge   fist   is 

clenched.) 
MRS.  SLAG   (going  to  him)  : 

What  air  you  goin'  to  do,  John? 
JOHN  SLAG  (putting  down  the  sack  of  seed)  : 

Git   somebody   else,   of   course.     That   damn    fool 

Marshall  warn't  worth  his  salt,  anyhow. 
(  ESTHEY,  having  paused  irresolute,  goes  to  exit.) 
SANDY : 

You  won't  lock  me  up,  will  you,  Esthey — like  a 

crazy    man    in    a    cage !      You    won't,    will    you, 

Esthey? 
JOHN  SLAG   (gruffly  to  MRS.  SLAG)  : 

Git  that  crazy  man  out  of  here.     I  won't  stand  fer 

his   jabberin'. 
ESTHEY  (pulling  him  aivay)  : 

Now   you  jest   come  on   or   I   will   lock   you   up ! 
(They  exit.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Supper  ready? 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Almost.     You  air  a  little  early   'count  of  what's 

happened.     I'll  hustle  Mazie. 
JOHN  SLAG  (going  toivard  the  house  door)  : 

If  nobody  turns  up  I'm  goin'  to  make  a  trip  inter 

town  this  week-end  an'  look  over  some  of  them 

boys  in  the  orphanage.     Thar  was  some  younguns 

when    we    got    Mazie    who    oughter    be    big    an' 

strong  by  now.     I'd  like  to  break  in  one  of  'em. 

He'd   belong  to   me   an'   he   couldn't  give   me   no 

back  talk  or  nothin'. 


22  WILD  BIRDS 

(He   exits  into  the  house  followed  meekly   by   MRS. 

SLAG.) 
(CoRiE    SLAG    and    MILT    POLLARD,    a    rather   short, 

plain-faced  man  with  prominent  gold-filled   teeth, 

enter  arm  in  arm.     They  pause  by  the  fence.} 
CORIE  : 

Won't    you    come    in,    Milt?      Supper    was    most 

ready  when  I  come  to  meet  you. 
MILT  : 

No  thanks,  Corie.     I've  got  some  milkin'  to  do  an' 

maw    gits    all    fidgety    if    I    don't    git    back    by 

sundown. 

CORIE  (pouting}  : 

Oh,  it's  allus  your  maw.  I  believe  you're  fonder 
of  her'n  than  you  air  of  me.  (She  turns  away 
from  him,  her  thin  mouth  tightened  into  a  hard 
line.} 

MILT  : 

Now  don't  git  cross,  Corie.  Maw's  pruty  help 
less  with  that  bad  leg  of  her'n  an'  I'd  be  a  pruty 
poor  son  if  I  didn't  watch  out  for  her.  She  got 
that  bad  leg  of  her'n  from  slushin'  around  in 
rain  an'  mud  fer  me  when  I  was  a  kid. 

CORIE  : 

She's  allus  takin'  you  away  from  me.  A  maw 
hain't  got  no  right  to  do  that.  You're  a  growed 
man  now  an'  not  no  kid.  (Turning  back  to  him.} 
When  we  git  married  she  won't  allus  be  wantin' 
you,  will  she,  Milt? 

MILT  : 

No,  Corie,  'cause  we'll  be  livin'  with  her  fer  a 
spell  till  I  git  money  enough  to  build  our'n  house. 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  23 

She  won't  be  needin'  me  so  much,  havin'  you  to 
talk  to  her,  days  when  I'm  out  in  the  fields.  She 
jest  gits  lonesome  sittin'  thar  all  day  with  her 
hands  in  her  lap. 

CORIE  (putting  her  arms  around  MILT'S  neck)  : 

Oh,  let's  not  talk  about  her  no  more.  I  love  you, 
Milt!  (She  passionately  kisses  him.) 

(MAZIE  enters  from  the  side  of  the  house  carrying 
the  wooden  water  bucket.  She  pauses  by  the 
house  corner  looking  at  the  lovers.) 

MILT  : 

Next  week  you  will  be  all  mine,  Corie — every 
inch  of  you.  (He  kisses  her  again  and  again  on 
the  mouth.  MAZIE  puts  her  hand  to  her  breast 
but  does  not  move.  Her  eyes  become  strangely, 
beautifully  misted.) 

CORIE   (breathlessly)  : 

Every  inch  of  me  your'n,  Milt. 

MILT  : 

I  love  you — love  you,  Corie.  (He  breaks  from 
her  and  stands  regarding  her  for  a  moment,  his 
lips  parted.)  Jest  walk  a  little  ways  more  with 
me,  down  as  fer  as  the  bean  lot.  Thar  goes  the 
last  of  the  sun. 

(The  stage  becomes  darker.  A  soft  blue  light 
bathes  the  road  and  the  prairie.  CORIE  and  MILT 
exit,  right,  arm  in  arm.  MAZIE  goes  to  the  fence. 
She  leans  on  it  and  watches  the  lovers  down  the 
road.  Then  she  turns,  her  eyes  still  strangely 
misted,  and  crosses  toward  the  well  to  fill  the 
bucket.  She  exits  but  re-enters  immediately, 
walking  quickly  backwards,  her  hands  thrust  out 


24  WILD  BIRDS 

before  her.     The  bucket  she  has  dropped  by  the 
well) 

MAZIE  (talking  to  someone  off-stage)  : 
Who  air  you?     You  skeered  me. 

(Enter  ADAM  LARSEN,  a  ivell-built  boy  of  eighteen 
dressed  in  blue  denim  trousers,  a  torn  dirty  shirt 
and  his  feet  bare  and  caked  with  mud.  His  face 
is  drawn  and  streaked  ivith  perspiration.  His 
mouth  hangs  open  and  he  breathes  heavily,) 

ADAM  : 

I   was   tryin'   to  git  a  drink   from   your   well.     I 

hev  been  runnin'  an'  I  air  thirsty.     I  didn't  mean 

to  skeer  you.  , 

MAZIE  : 

I  dropped  the  bucket  when  I  saw  you.     You  kin 

tie  the  rope  to  it  an'  let  it  down  inter  the  well. 

Whar  did  you  come  from? 
ADAM  (after  searching  her  face  for  a  moment)  : 

I  ran  away. 
MAZIE  : 

From  home? 
ADAM  : 

No.      I    ran    away    from    the    reform    school    at 

Dayson. 
MAZIE: 

What  air  a  reform  school? 
ADAM  : 

It  air  a  place  whar  they  put  boys  and  girls  who 

air  bad. 
MAZIE  : 

Air  it  like  an  orphanage? 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  25 

ADAM  : 

Somethin',  I  guess.  Only  at  a  reform  school, 
everybody  air  bad. 

MAZIE   (in  surprise)  : 
Everybody bad  ? 

ADAM  : 

Yes.  I  ran  away  yesterday  mornin'  with  another 
boy.  All  the  others  was  skeered.  Red  went  one 
way  an'  I  went  the  other.  He  lived  South  an' 
my  mother  lives  North.  I  ran  till  I  thought  my 
heart  would  stop  beatin'.  Then  I  got  a  ride  on  a 
hay  wagon.  I  walked  almost  all  last  night.  I 
hev  big  blisters  on  the  bottom  of  my  feet. 

MAZIE  : 

I  air  awful  sorry.  I  will  git  you  a  drink  of 
water.  I  was  jest  after  some  fer  the  house  when 
I  saw  you. 

ADAM  : 

Does  your  mother  an'  father  live  here? 

MAZIE  : 

No.  My  mother  air  dead  an'  my  father  didn't 
want  me.  I  was  in  the  St.  Vincent  home.  Mr. 
Slag  came  an'  got  me.  I  hire  out  to  him. 

ADAM   (eagerly)  : 

Oh,  I  wonder  if  he'd  hire  me  out? 

MAZIE  : 

You  look  like  you  air  strong.  Mr.  Marshall,  the 
hired  man,  jest  quit.  Kin  you  plow? 

ADAM  : 

You  bet. 

MAZIE: 

Then  maybe  Mr.   Slag  would  take  you. 


26  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  : 

If  he  knew  I  was  a  bad  boy  would  he  take  me? 

MAZIE  : 

I  don't  know.  I'm  goin'  to  git  you  some  water. 
You  kin  hardly  talk. 

ADAM  : 

Do  you  think  he  would  send  me  back  to  the 
reform  school  if  I  fessed  up  an'  told  him  I  ran 
away?  Maw  allus  said  it  whar  wrong  to  lie  but 
in  the  reform  school  we  lied  all  the  time. 

MAZIE  : 

I  don't  think  he  would  send  you  back.  He  needs 
a  man  so  bad  who  kin  plow. 

ADAM: 

I  used  to  plow  at  home.  Thar  was  a  big  field 
right  side  of  our'n  sittin'  room  winder.  Maw 
used  to  set  at  the  winder  an'  watch  me.  When 
I  would  git  tired  an'  stop,  she  used  to  come  out 
with  a  gourd  of  spring  water  an'  some  of  her'n 
little  white  biscuits  on  a  plate  with  blue  flowers. 
She  would  come  to  me  over  the  piles  of  dirt 
steppin'  so  light  an'  pruty,  balancin'  the  biscuits 
an'  gourd  without  spillin'  anything. 

MAZIE  : 

Thar !  I  told  you  you  couldn't  talk.  You  choke 
right  up,  you're  so  thirsty.  Set  down  in  a  chair 
an'  rest  yer  feet.  They  must  be  sore  with  blisters. 
(She  takes  a  step  toward  the  well.) 

(Enter  MRS.  SLAG  from  the  house.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 
Mazie ! 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  27 

MAZJE: 

Yes,  mam 

MRS.  SLAG: 

What  air   you   takin'   so  long  about? — (She  sees 

ADAM.)     Who  air  you? 
ADAM  : 

My  name  air  Adam  Larsen,  mam.     I  air  thirsty 

— an' — an' — 
MRS.  SLAG  (turning  to  the  house  and  calling)  : 

Oh,  John!     John! 
JOHN  SLAG   (from  inside)  : 

Waal? 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Come  out  here,  John.     (ADAM,  frightened,  makes 

a  motion  to  run  away.)     Don't  go  way.     Wait. 
(Enter  JOHN  SLAG.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Waal?    Waal? 
MRS.  SLAG: 

I  thought  this  here  boy  might  be  lookin'  fer  work. 
JOHN  SLAG  (looking  him  over  as  he  crosses  to  him)  : 

Air  you  lookin'  fer  work? 
ADAM  : 

Y-yes,  sir. 
JOHN  SLAG: 

What    air    your    name    an'    whar    did    you    come 

from  ? 
(ADAM  turns  helplessly  toward  MAZIE,  then  back  to 

JOHN  SLAG.) 
ADAM   (searching  the  big  man's  cruel  face)  : 

I— I 


28  WILD  BIRDS 

JOHN  SLAG: 
Waal  ? 

ADAM  : 

I — I — yon — won't — I — (His  legs  seem  to  give  way 
under  him.  He  abruptly  drops  to  his  knees  and 
buries  his  face  in  his  hands.) 

JOHN  SLAG: 

What's  the  matter  with  yon? 

(The  boy's  shoulders  heave.    MAZIE  stretches  out  her 
hand.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

He's  cryin'.     Of  all  things  fer  a  big  boy. 

JOHN  SLAG  (pulling  him  up  by  the  shoulder)  : 
What's  the  matter  with  yon? 

ADAM   (throwing  himself  on  JOHN  SLAG'S  mercy)  : 
I'm  Adam  Larsen.     I  ran  away  from  the  reform 
school   at   Dayson.      Please   don't   send   me   back. 
I  kin  plow  an'  I'll  work  fer  you,  if  yon  don't  send 
me  back.     (His  voice  breaks.) 

JOHN  SLAG  (revelling  in  the  feel  of  this  helpless  boy 
wriggling  in  his  power)  : 
If  yon  ran  away  yon  should  be  sent  back — 

ADAM  : 

Fer  God's  sake,  don't  send  me  back!  I'll  kill 
myself — if  you  send  me  back !  I  wasn't  bad  when 
they  sent  me — but  I'm  bad  when  I'm  thar.  If 
you  send  me  back  I'll  hang  myself  like  Eddie 
Smolt  did.  They  found  him  in  the  mornin'.  I 
saw  him  when  they  cut  him  down !  He  was  only 
thirteen.  He  hung  himself.  I'll  do  the  same.  I 
know  jest  how  he  did  it — with  a  bed  sheet.  If 
you  send  me  back — I'll  do  the  same 


ACT  1— SCENE  1  29 

JOHN  SLAG  (unmoved)  : 

By  the  law,  I  should  send  you  back.  It  hain't 
right  to  keep  a  boy  who  has  run  away  from  an 
institution.  Yes,  by  right.  I  should  send  you 
back 

ADAM  (almost  shrieking)  : 

If  you  do — I'll  hang  myself — like  Eddie  Smolt ! 

(MAZIE  presses   the   tips   of  her   fingers  against   her 
closed  eyes.) 

JOHN  SLAG  : 

Whar  was  you  headed  fer? 

An.vu  : 

Fer  home — to  my  mother — but  it's  too  fer  away. 
Home's  too  fer  away — Oh,  God!  God! — (He 
throws  himself  again  on  the  ground.) 

JOHN  SLAG: 
Git  up ! 

(ADAM  slowly  rises.) 

JOHN  SLAG: 

I'll  keep  you  here  an'  you  kin  work  fer  me.  I'll 
give  you  a  good  home  if  you  show  you're 
deservin'  of  it.  You  kin  hev  the  hired  man's 
room  in  the  attic — 

ADAM  : 

An' — an'  you  won't  let  them  take  me  back  if  they 
come  fer  me? 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Jest  let  me  tend  to  that  (patting  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  at  the  same  time  feeling  the  muscle 
of  his  arm).  You  air  a  husky.  Yes,  1  guess  you 
kin  plow.  Come  in  the  house.  \Ye  air  jest 
settin'  down  to  supper. 


30  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  : 

I  air  mighty  hungry  an'  thirsty — 
MRS.  SLAG  (going  toward  the  house}  : 

Hurry  with  that  water,  Mazie ! 
MAZIE: 

Yes,  mam.     (She  starts  toward  the  well.) 
ADAM  : 

Let  me  git  the  water.     (MAZIE  pauses.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

No,  you  come  in  with  me.     Mazie  gits  the  water. 
(MRS.  SLAG  exits  into  the  house.) 
ADAM  (to  JOHN  SLAG)  : 

It  air  mighty  kind  of  you  to  do  this,  sir.     I  will 

show  you  that  I  air  deservin'  of  a  good  home. 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Waal,  we'll  see.     Come  on  in.     We  eat  early — git 

to  bed  early  an'  git  up  with  the  sun. 
(JOHN  SLAG  and  ADAM  exit  into  the  house.) 
(MAZIE   stands   for   a   moment,    motionless,    looking 

after  them.     Then  she  suddenly  laughs,  high  and 

joyously,  like  a  child  romping  through  a  flowered 

Held.     She  whirls  about;  raises  high   her  arms; 

tilts  back  her  chin  and  darts  to  the  well.) 

(THE  CURTAIN  FALLS) 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  31 

ACT   I 
SCENE  2 

The  same  as  scene  1.  A  week  later.  The  evening 
of  CORIE  SLAG'S  marriage  to  MILT  POLLARD.  All 
things  are  obscured  by  the  shadows  of  dusk 
except  the  front  of  the  stage  which  is  lighted 
by  a  lantern  in  the  windoiv  of  the  house. 

ADAM  LARSEN  has  been  standing  by  the  fence  looking 
off  across  the  prairie  but  he  turns  and  somes 
down  to  the  lighted  place  as  the  curtain  rises. 

MRS.  SLAG'S  nasal  voice  is  heard  inside  the  house. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Corie  !     Corie  !     Air  you  ready  ? 

CORIE  : 

Almost,  maw ! 

(There  is  silence.  ADAM  walks  up  and  down.  MAZIE 
comes  around  the  side  of  the  house.} 

ADAM  : 

Hello,  Mazie. 

MAZIE  (startled}  : 

Oh ! — Air  that  you,  Adam  ?  I  thought  you  went 
to  bed. 

ADAM  : 

I  thought  I  was  awful  tired  but  when  I  laid  down 
I  couldn't  sleep  so  I  got  up  agin. 

MAZIE  : 

They  will  be  goin'  soon.  Milt's  wagon  jest  pulled 
up  by  the  willers.  I  peeked  in  the  winder  at 
Corie.  She  looked  very  pruty  in  her  new  white 
dress  an'  her  hair  up  like  this.  (She  piles  her 
hair  on  top  of  her  head.} 


32  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  : 

Gee !     What  a  lot  of  black  hair  you  have,  Mazie. 
MAZIE  : 

Sometimes  it  air  too  heavy.     Once,  when  I  was 

lookin'  in  the  well  it  slipped  down  an'  I  thought 

it   was   goin'   to   pull   me   inter   the   water.      (She 

laughs.) 
ADAM  : 

When  my  mother  was  a  gal  she  could  sit  on  her 

hair,  it  was  so  long. 
MAZIE: 

Like  a  queen ! 
ADAM  : 

Yes,  like  a  little  queen.     Air  you  really  seventeen 

tonight,  Mazie? 
MAZIE  : 

I  think  I  air  seventeen,  but  I  hain't  sure  now. 
(Enter  JOHN  SLAG  dressed  uncomfortably  in  a  black 

suit  and  wearing  great,  freshly   blackened  shoes. 

He  is  wrapping  a  knitted  muffler  about  his  throat 

and  carries  a  tall  black  hat.) 

(ADAM  and  MAZIE  instinctively  move  closer  together.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Adam  Larsen,  I  thought  you  was  in  bed? 
ADAM  : 

I    did    go    to    bed — but — but — I    got    up    agin.      I 

couldn't  sleep. 
JOHN  SLAG  (advancing  on  him  in  a  bullying  attitude)  : 

Thar  air  some  trick  in  the  back  of  your'n  head, 

Adam  Larsen.     (He  puts  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

The  boy  winces.)     Remember,  you  belong  to  me! 

If   you   try   runnin'   away  like   you   did    from   the 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  33 

reform  school,  I'll  track  you  down  an'  beat  you 
within  an  inch  of  yer  life !  If  it  warn't  fer  me, 
them  men  who  come  lookin'  fer  you  would  hev 
taken  you  back  to  whar  you  belong.  You're 
mine  now  an'  you'll  do  everything  I  say !  Under 
stand  that?  (His  hand  closes  tightly  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  ADAM  digs  his  upper  teeth  into  his 
lower  lip  to  keep  from  crying  out.) 

ADAM  : 

I — I — hain't  thinkin'  of  runnin'  away,  Mr.  Slag. 
Honest  I  hain't. 

JOHN  SLAG  (releasing  him)  : 

\Yaal,  I'm  warnin'  you,  that's  all. 

(Enter  MILT  POLLARD  by  the  road,  painfully  dressed 
in  a  black  suit  of  clothes  that  has  been  bought  by 
catalogue  and  shows  it.  He  wears  white  gloves, 
carries  an  umbrella  under  his  arm  and  a  smoky 
lantern  in  his  hand,  and  steps  cautiously  to  avoid 
puddles.  He  salutes  JOHN  SLAG.) 

MILT  : 

Evenin',  paw.  Air  they  ready?  I  left  the  wagon 
near  the  willers.  The  road  air  too  full  of  mud 
holes  to  git  through. 

JOHN  SLAG   (bellowing  into  the  house)  : 
Maw!     Corie!     Milt  air  here! 

MRS.  SLAG   (from  inside)  : 

All  right,  John.     Corie !  Corie !  Milt  air  here. 

CORIE  : 

Already,  maw. 

JOHN  SLAG  (to  MILT)  : 

It  air  a  lot  of  damn  nonsense  goin*  clear  inter 
town  fer  a  fool  weddin'  when  we  could  hev  had 


34  WILD  BIRDS 

it  here  or  at  yer  house,  Milt,  jest  as  well.  Look 
at  all  the  money  I  hev  spent  already,  an'  more 
that  I  hev  to  spend  afore  we  git  through  with  it. 
That  dinner  at  the  hotel  afterwards  air  plumb 
crazy. 

MJLT  : 

I  don't  care  about  so  much  fuss  but  Corie,  bein' 
a  woman,  wanted  things  pruty.  It's  natural  fer 
a  woman  to  want  some  dog. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

It  air  a  waste  of  money,  an'  time  an'  everything. 
Corie  thinks  I  hev  saved  up  money  but  I  air  a 
poor  man,  Milt  Pollard.  Allus  remember  that ! 
I  air  a  poor  man ! 

(Enter  CORIE  and  MRS.  SLAG.  CORIE  wears  a  big 
cloak  over  a  stiffly  starched  white  dress  that  has 
much  lace  looped  on  the  sleeves  and  around  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt.  Excitement  has  flushed  her 
thin  face  and  burns  in  her  eyes.  She  is  almost 
pretty.  MRS.  SLAG  wears  a  drab  colored  jacket 
and  skirt,  the  jacket  having  leg-of-mutton  sleeves 
and  the  skirt  is  wide  and  ruffled  and  trails  on  the 
ground.  She  lifts  it  high  to  keep  it  out  of  the 
dirt.  She  also  carries  an  umbrella.) 

CORIE  (going  to  MILT)  : 

Milt,  I  air  sorry  if  I  hev  kept  you  waitin'. 

MILT  : 

I  jest  came.  My,  you  look  pruty,  Corie.  (He 
takes  her  hand.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Mazie,  you  git  inter  the  house.  Finish  up  them 
dishes  an'  then  you  go  straight  to  bed. 


ACT  1-SCENE  2  35 

(MAZIE  silently  exits  behind  the  house.} 

MRS.  SLAG: 

John,  I   thought  Adam  Larsen  was  in  bed. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

He    air    goin'    right    now.      (He    makes    a    brutal 

motion  toivard  ADAM.     The  boy  slinks  toward  the 

house.) 
MILT: 

Come  on,  folks. 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Go    slow    with   the    lantern,   Milt.      The    road   air 

full  of  chuck  holes. 
MILT  (walking  ahead,  CORIE  on  his  arm)  : 

I    air    so    happy    I    could    sing.      Sing    with    me, 

Corie.     (Off  key  he  begins  singing,  "Seeing  Nellie 

Home."    As  they  exit  CORIE  joins  in  with  a  thin 

nasal  soprano.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Hell! 

(They  exit.) 
(ADAM   stops   on    the  steps   of   the   house   and   turns 

about.     He  listens  to  the  song  until  it  dies  away. 

Frogs  sound  clearly  near  the  well.     A  wind  rises 

in   the   big   tree   over   the   well.     It  stirs   ADAM'S 

unmanageable  shock   of  blond   hair.     He   takes  a 

deep  breath.) 

(MAZIE  re-enters  from  the  side  of  the  house.) 
MAZIE   (calling  softly)  : 

Adam.     Adam.     \Yhar  air  you? 
ADAM   (coming  doivn  the  step)  : 

Here  I  air,  Mazie. 


36  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE   (running  to  him)  : 

Oh,  Adam,  ain't  it  wonderful  to  be  alive  on  nights 
like  this?  Jest  think,  thar  air  lots  of  people  who 
air  not  born  yet  an'  don't  know  what  a  wind  feels 
like — or  stars  look  like — or  anything  about  the 
grass  on  the  prairie ! 

ADAM  : 

Gee,  Mazie,  you  say  pruty  but  funny  things.  You 
don't  know  much  of  things,  do  you,  Mazie? 

MAZIE   (shaking  her  head}  : 

No.  Nobody  will  tell  me  much  of  things.  (Nearer 
to  him.)  But  you  know  things,  don't  you,  Adam? 

ADAM  : 

Yes.     I  know  all  kinds  of  bad  things. 

MAZIE  : 

You  air  allus  callin'  yourself  bad.  You  air  not 
bad,  Adam. 

ADAM  : 

Sure  I  air  bad.  I  warn't  when  I  was  home  but 
afterwards  I  was  bad.  It  air  funny  when  you 
think  of  it.  They  sent  me  to  the  reform  school 
to  make  me  good  an'  instead  I  got  bad ! 

MAZIE  : 

Why  did  they  send  you  to  the  reform  school, 
Adam? 

ADAM  : 

Because  I  hit  my  father  with  his  cane.  Pie  fell 
down  an'  his  head  began  to  bleed.  I  thought  that 
he  was  dead.  I  got  skeered  an'  got  to  laughin' 
like  a  fool.  I  couldn't  stop.  They  said  I  was 
crazy.  Then  they  said,  'No,  he  is  jest  bad !' 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  37 

MAZIE  : 

Why  did  you  hit  him? 
ADAM  : 

Because  he  took  my  mother's  wrist  an'  twisted  it 

until   she   screamed   an'   fell   down   on   her   knees. 

I  heard  the  bones  in  her  pruty  wrist  crack.     Then 

I  hit  him  with  his  cane  that  I  picked  up  beside 

his  chair.     After  that,  they  sent  me  away. 
MAZIE  : 

That    warn't    bad    to    hit    him    if    he    took    your 

mother's  wrist  an'  twisted  it  till  the  pruty  bones 

cracked.     Oh ! 

(She  buries  her  face  in  her  hands.) 
ADAM   (timidly  touching  her  shoulder)  : 

Don't   cry,   Mazie.     Mazie,   please   don't   cry. 
MAZIE  : 

Your   poor    little    maw.      (She    turns   and    like    a 

child  comes  into  his  arms.     Awkwardly  he  holds 

her.     She  snuggles  closer  to  him.) 
ADAM  : 

My  mother  would  like  you,  Mazie.     She  allus  said 

she  wanted  to  hev  a  gal.      (His  face  goes  down 

into  her  hair.) 
MAZIE  : 

\Yhy  do  you  put  your  face  in  my  hair? 
ADAM  : 

I  like  to.     It  feels  nice  and  soft  agin  my  cheek. 
MAZIE   (after  a  pause)  : 

An'  why  do  your  arms  hold  me  so  tight? 
ADAM  : 

Mazie — Mazie — 


38  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE   (pulling  away  and  looking  at  him  with  won 
der}  : 
You  hurt  me.     An'  your  voice — 

ADAM   (turning  away  and  clenching  and  unclenching 
his  hands)  : 
Oh,   Mazie — Mazie — 

MAZIE  : 

Why  do  you  say,  'Oh,  Mazie — Mazie'  like  that — 
way  down  in  your  throat?  (She  again  comes  to 
him.) 

ADAM   (moving  away)  : 

Don't — don't,  Mazie.  I  air  bad.  You  don't  know 
things.  Don't — don't — ,  Mazie — 

(Enter  old  SANDY  ROBERTS,  creeping  along  the  road 
furtively,  keeping  in  the  shadozv  of  the  snake 
fence.  He  peers  over  the  fence  and  sees  MAZIE 
and  ADAM.) 

SANDY : 

Hey,  younguns,  look  at  me !  I  hev  run  away 
from  Esthey's  house.  Esthey  went  to  the  weddin'. 
She  locked  me  up  but  I  climbed  out  the  winder — 
(coming  into  the  lighted  place,  chuckling  over  his 
cleverness.  He  wears  a  heavy  gray  shawl  wound 
about  his  body  like  a  cocoon.)  He,  he,  they 
think  I'm  crazy  but  I  fooled  'em  this  time.  I 
climbed  out  of  the  winder.  I  wouldn't  hev  minded 
if  they'd  give  me  a  lamp  but  they  left  me  in  the 
dark  an'  things  made  noises — chairs  an'  things. 
So  I  climbed  out  the  winder — he,  he — 

MAZIE: 

You  better  go  home,  Sandy.  If  Esthey  comes 
back  an'  finds  you  gone  there'll  be  trouble. 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  39 

SANDY   (peering  up  at  the  sky)  : 

Tonight  air  a  night  fer  weddin's.  Thar  air  so 
many  stars  an'  sich  a  sweet  smellin'  wind  with 
a  little  touch  of  rain  in  it — tears  in  the  mornin' — 
he,  he — tears  in  the  mornin' — 

MAZIE   (repeating  slowly)  : 

Tears  in  the  mornin'.  You  air  a  funny  old  man, 
Sandy.  You  hev  lived  a  long,  long  time  an'  you 
know  lots  of  things,  don't  you? 

SANDY    (looking    quizzically    at    MAZIE   and    then    at 
ADAM)  : 

I  air  rememberin'  the  time  when  I  was  young 
like  you  two  younguns  afore  I  crossed  the  plains. 
He,  he,  on  early  Spring  nights  like  this  I  was 
aboilin'  and  yit  I  was  askeered,  like  you  two, 
standin'  apart  from  each  other,  wantin'  each 
other,  but  askeered. 

MAZIE  : 

What  air  you  talkiir  about.  Sandy?  (She  is 
rather  breathless,  her  fingers  pressed  under  her 
little  left  breast.  Her  heart  is  struggling  like  a 
bird  held  in  the  hand.) 

ADAM   (turning  fiercely  on  the  old  man)  : 
Shut  up,  you  crazy  ol'  fool ! 

MAZIE  : 

Don't  talk  like  that  to  him,  Adam.  He  air  treated 
so  bad  at  home. 

ADAM  : 

He  talks  too  much. 

SANDY : 

Young  folks  air  young  folks  an'  ol'  folks  air  ol' 
folks.  We  ol'  folks  kin  only  talk.  Young  folks 


40  WILD  BIRDS 

don't  hev  to  say  nothin'.  They  jest  come  together 
natural-like,  like  the  waves  used  to  come  natural- 
like  to  Sandy  Head  when  I  was  a  boy,  or  like 
autumn  leaves  come  together  when  wind  blows 
'em. 
MAZIE  (fascinated)  : 

I  wish  I  could  understand  the  things  what  you 
say.  I  like  that — autumn  leaves  when  wind  blows 
'em — It  has  a  pruty  sound  like  wild  bird.  (to 
ADAM)  Mr.  Marshall  called  me  a  wild  bird, 
trapped.  He  said  he  might  come  back  to  open 
the  trap.  Tell  more,  Sandy. 

ADAM    (sternly)  : 

I  air  goin'  to  take  Sandy  home. 
SANDY : 

No,  no,  not  unless  you  light  a  lamp ! 
ADAM  : 

I'll  light  a  lamp.     Come  on. 

MAZIE: 

Wait,  Adam !  Let's  hev  a  party — us  three !  I 
thought  about  it  this  mornin'  so  I  made  some 
little  wheat  cakes  when  Aunt  Martie  was  out. 
I  said  to  myself,  'We'll  hev  our  own  weddin' 
supper,  like  they  air  goin'  to  hev  at  the  hotel.' 
Thar  air  some  cider  in  the  jug  an'  some  apples 
in  the  barrel.  We  kin  make  believe  it's  a  whole 
supper. 

SANDY    (smacking   his  lips)  : 

Golly,  I  air  hungry.  Esthey  was  in  sich  a  hurry 
to  git  ready  fer  the  weddin',  she  didn't  think 
nothin'  'bout  me. 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  41 

MAZIE   (bubbling  over}  : 

We'll  hev  it  out  here  under  the  stars!  I'll  spread 
a  table  cloth  on  the  ground.  Won't  it  be  fun? 
I  kin  make  out  I'm  the  bride  like  Corie.  an' 
Adam  kin  be  the  groom  like  Milt!  (Darting  for 
the  house.)  I'll  git  the  things.  You  wait  here! 
Oh,  what  fun — what  fun  havin'  our  own  weddin' 
supper!  (She  exits  into  the  house.} 

SANDY  (as  ADAM  restlessly  walks  up  to  the  fence}  : 
One  time,  when  I  whar  a  young  man  jest  a  little 
older'n  you,  I  saw  a  Sioux  weddin'  out  on  the 
prairie  above  Skull  Creek.  I  watched  it  from  be 
hind  a  big  rock.  If  they'd  knowed  I  was  watchin' 
'em  they'd  a  scalped  me — He,  he,  but  I  stayed  flat 
on  my  belly  an'  fooled  'em.  That  wasn't  much 
of  a  weddin'.  The  young  chief  had  to  catch  the 
gal  first.  She  was  a  swift  runner  like  a  fox. 
When  he  caught  her  he  jest  thre\v  her  over  his 
hoss  an' — 

ADAM   (wheeling  and  coming  back)  : 
I'm  goin'  to  take  you  home ! 

(Re-enter  MAZIE  carrying  a  plate  of  little  wheat 
cakes  and  a  folded  cloth  over  her  arm.  In  her 
left  hand  she  carries  a  brown  jug.) 

MAZIE  : 

Oh,  what  fun!  What  fun!  Ain't  it  fun,  Adam? 
(She  spreads  the  cloth  on  the  ground  and  places 
the  dish  of  cakes  and  jug  in  the  center  of  it. 
ADAM  and  SANDY  stand  watching  her,  both  of 
them  fascinated  by  her  bird-like  dartings.  She 
stands  off  and  surveys  the  set  of  the  cloth  and 
the  jug  and  dish  upon  it.) 


42  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  : 

Now  fer  three  cups  an'  the  apples. 

ADAM  : 

I  kin  fetch  them. 

MAZIE  : 

No,  Adam.     I  know  jest  whar  they  air. 

ADAM  : 

I  kin  find  'em,  I  bet.     (He  runs  into  the  house.} 

MAZIE  (dancing  over  to  SANDY)  : 

Sandy,  I  air  so  glad  you  climbed  out  of  the 
winder  an'  came!  (Her  arm  slips  around  his 
waist)  Without  havin'  a  lamp  it  must  be  awful 
dark  an'  you  all  alone.  I  know  how  it  air.  Did 
you  ever  look  down  our'n  well  jest  at  evenin' 
afore  stars  come  out?  Oh,  it  air  black!  I 
know — I  know  why  you  climbed  out  of  the  win 
der. 

SANDY : 

I  was  rememberin'  the  time  I  saw  a  Sioux  weddin' 
on  the  prairie  above  Skull  Creek.  A  buck  had 
a  drum.  He  went — thump,  thump,  thump,  fer  a 
long  time.  A  bone  was  his  drum  stick.  Then 
the  ol'  chief  rode  up  on  a  white  hoss.  It  was 
the  ol'  chief's  gal  who  was  gettin'  married.  She 
was  pruty  an'  could  run  swift  like  a  fox.  She 
wore  lots  of  red  beads — 

MAZIE   (carried  away  by  the  picture  of  beauty  that 
has  immediately  leaped  in  her  mind)  : 
Yes,  yes — 

SANDY : 

It  wasn't  much  of  a  weddin'.  The  young  chief 
had  to  catch  the  gal  first.  He  had  a  hard  time 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  43 

but   he   did.      Then   he    jest   threw   her   over   his 

hoss  an'  rode  away  with  her,  an'  the  drum  went 

on — thump,   thump,   thump — 
(Re-enter  ADAM  with  a  wooden  boivl  of  apples  and 

three  tin  cups.) 
MAZIE  : 

The  apples  go  right  here,  Adam,     (indicates  place 

on  the  cloth)  An'  the  cups  give  to  me.     I'm  goin' 

to   pour  the  cider.     Here,   Sandy,  you   sit   down 

in   the   middle   an'   we'll   sit   down    on    each    side 

of  you.     That's  it. 
SANDY   (sitting  dozvn  solemnly)  : 

This  is  like  the  buck  with  the  drum  sat,  beatin' 

thump,   thump,   thump   with   a   bone    fer   a   drum 

stick.      (He   crosses  his  legs,   empties   the   apples 

from  the  wooden  bowl  and  uses  it  for  a  drum. 

It  makes  a  hollow  sound  when  he  hits  it  with  his 

knuckles.) 
(MAZIE    and    ADAM    sit    cross-legged,    one    on    each 

side    of   him.      MAZIE   passes   the    dish    of  wheat 

cakes.) 
MAZIE  : 

I  wanted  to  put  sugar  on  'em  but  I  was  skeered 

Auntie  Martie  would  find  out. 
ADAM   (nibbling  a  cake)  : 

They  air  good,  Mazie. 
MAZIE   (pouring  the  cider)  : 

If  they   air   dry   this   cider   will   wash    'em   down. 
SANDY : 

I  air  the  ol'  chief  an'  Adam  air  the  young  chief. 

Mazie  air  my   daughter.      (He   begins  to   unwind 

the  gray  shawl  from  his  body.) 


44  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  : 

Don't  take  off  your  shawl,  Sandy.  You'll  catch 
cold. 

SANDY   (unheeding  her.     He  puts  the  shawl  around 
her)  : 

Thar.  That  air  yer  blanket.  The  ol'  chief's 
darter  must  be  very  pruty  fer  her'n  weddin'. 

MAZIE: 

I  kin  make  believe  the  red  beads. 

SANDY : 

An'  now  the  ol'  chief  raises  up  his  arms  an'  says 
somethin'  to  the  sky  about  corn  an'  rain  an' 
rattlesnakes  an'  little  children  fer  his  darter. 
(He  raises  his  arms  and  his  lips  move.) 

(MAZIE,  all  aquiver,  stares  at  him.  The  strange  mist 
is  again  in  her  eyes.) 

(ADAM,   nervous   and   breathing   heavily,   crumbles   a 
wheat  cake  over  the  cloth.) 

ADAM    (as  the  old  man  seems  to  ivork  himself  into 
a  frenzy,  swaying  back  and  forth,  muttering  un 
intelligible  things)  : 
Quit  it,  you  ol'  fool ! 

MAZIE    (breathlessly)  : 

Oh,   Adam,  don't  stop  him. 

SANDY   (in  a  sort  of  chant)  : 

I  air  now  the  drummer — drummin'  with  a  white 
bone — the  rib  of  a  man  that  died — Thump,  thump 
— thump — thump,  thump — (His  left  arm  rises  and 
falls  mechanically.) 

ADAM  : 

Stop,  you  ol'   fool ! 


ACT  1— SCENE  2  45 

SANDY : 

Thump,    thump — thump,    thump!      Like    a    man's 

heart  beatin'  an'  a  gal's  heart  answerin' — Thump, 

thump — thump,  thump! 
MAZIE   (leaning  across  the  cloth)  : 

Adam — Adam — like  a  heart — 
SANDY : 

Run  from  him  ol'  chief's  darter — run  like  a   fox 

afore   he   catches   you.      Thump,   Thump — thump, 

thump ! 
(MAZIE   utters   a   little   hysterical   squeal   and   jumps 

up.     She  runs  toivard   the  fence  into   the  dark.) 
SANDY: 

After   her,   young   chief !      Catch   the    little    silver 

fox  who  air  askeered ! 
ADAM    (rising)  : 

You're  crazy!     Crazy! 
SANDY : 

After  her,  young  chief.     After  her.     She's  your'n. 

She's  your'n. 
MAZIE  (calling  from  the  dark: 

Adam !     Adam !     You  can't  catch  me.     You  can't 

catch  the  little  silver  fox ! 
ADAM  : 

Oh,  can't   I.     Jest  you   watch   out.     Oh,   can't   I. 

(He  runs  into  the  darkness.     His  indistinct  figure 

is  seen  pursuing  MAZIE  for  a  moment.     MAZIE'S 

laughter  and   ADAM'S   heavy    breathing   come   out 

to   the  old  man  who  sits  erect   before   the   clothf 

his    hand    still    rising    and    falling    mechanically. 

ADAM   catches  MAZIE.     Their  figures   merge  and 

cling  for  a  moment.     There  follows  a  deep  pause. 


46  WILD  BIRDS 

Then  ADAM   breaks  away;  turns,   and  dashes  up 

the  road  and  out  of  sight.) 
MAZIE    (coming   slowly    down    into    the    light.      She 

stands  still  for  a  moment,  her  finger  tips  pressed 

against   her   mouth.      Then    she    speaks   in    great 

wonder)  : 

Sandy — Sandy — Adam  kissed  me. 
SANDY  (still  beating  the  time)  : 

Thump,  thump — thump,  thump. 

(THE  CURTAIN  SLOWLY  FALLS.) 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  47 

ACT  2. 
SCENE  1. 

SCENE  1. — The  same  scene  about  a  month  and  a  half 
later.  A  Sunday  afternoon  in  full  Spring.  A 
bright  sun  floods  the  clearing  before  the  SLAG 
house,  the  road  and  the  prairie.  The  prairie  is 
sprinkled  with  vivid  wild  flowers. 

MRS.  SLAG  is  seated  in  the  barrel  rocker  darning  some 
heavy  socks.  Bees  hum  around  the  tree  over  the 
w 'ell.  MRS.  SLAG  nods.  Her  darning  egg  ivith 
the  sock  covering  it  drops  into  her  lap. 

Enter  CORIE  on  the  road  from  the  right.  She  car 
ries  an  empty  basket.  She  walks  with  little 
animation.  Her  mouth  has  a  downward  droop. 

CORIE  (irritably)  : 
Maw,  wake  up! 

MRS.  SLAG  (starting  up)  : 

Oh!  I  did  drop  off,  didn't  I?  How  air  you, 
Corie?  You  hain't  been  over  fer  some  days. 

CORIE  (sitting  down  on  one  of  the  benches)  : 

I  air  fair  enough.  I  walked  over  to  borrer  some 
eggs.  Our'n  chickens  hain't  layin',  somehow,  '(she 
sighs.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

What's  the  matter,  Corie?  Hain't  Milt  provin' 
a  good  husband  to  you? 

CORIE  : 

Oh,  Milt's  all  right.  It's  that  maw  of  his'n.  She 
drives  me  crazy.  Milt  seems  to  think  I  oughter 
love  her  like  I  do  him.  Humph !  Sittin'  thar 


48  WILD  BIRDS 

all  day  with  a  Bible  in  her  lap,  when  she  could 
jest  as  easy  be  up  helpin'  with  the  house-work. 
I  don't  believe  her  leg's  bad  at  all. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

I  wouldn't  stand  fer  it  a  minute,  Corie.  I'd 
speak  to  Milt  about  it.  Train  him  early,  Corie. 
Don't  make  the  mistake  like  I  did  with  John. 
If  I'd  only  taken  the  whip-hand  when  we  was 
first  married  things  wouldn't  be  like  they  air 
now.  I  remember  our'n  first  fight.  He  threw  a 
dish  on  the  floor  an'  wouldn't  pick  it  up  when  I 
asked  him  to.  I  should  hev  left  it  thar  till  he 
did  but  like  a  fool  I  picked  it  up.  They  air  all 
alike,  men  air.  They  watch  fer  a  chance  an'  if 
you  give  it  to  'em — the  least  little  one — you  air 
a  slave  to  the  coffin.  (She  rises  and  puts  her 
darning  on  a  bench)  How  many  eggs  do  you 
need,  Corie  ? 

COKIE  : 

A  dozen  will  do,  maw. 

MRS.  SLAG  (going  to  the  steps  of  the  house)  : 
Mazie !     Mazie ! 

CORIE  : 

Last  night  Milt  says  he  seen  Adam  Larsen  walkin' 
down  by  Little  Creek  in  the  moonlight.  He  said 
he  watched  him  fer  a  long  time  an'  he  was  walkin' 
up  an'  down,  an'  then  he'd  throw  stones  in  the 
water  an'  then  he'd  walk  agin. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

He's  been  sneakin'  out  after  dark !  I  tol'  John 
I  thought  I  heard  him  climbin'  down  the  ladder 
a  night  or  so  ago. 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  49 

CORIE  : 

I'd    watch    out    fer    him    comin'    from    a    reform 

school   like   he   did.      He's   liable   to   kill   you   all 

when  you're  asleep. 
MRS.  SLAG: 

He's  had  a  funny  light  in  his  eyes  lately,  I  noticed, 

an'  his  cheeks  look  like  fever. 
(Enter  MAZIE  from  the  house.     She  wears  a  spring 

flower,    like    a    white    star,    caught    in    her    black 

hair. ) 
MAZIE  : 

Did    you    call    me,    Auntie    Martie  ? — Oh,    hello, 

Corie. 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Yes,  I  called  you  a  long  time  ago.     Git  a  dozen 

eggs  down  the  barn  fer  Corie. 
MAZIE  (taking  the  basket)  : 

Yes,    mam.       (She    starts    off,    then    turns)    Oh, 

Corie,  air  you  happy? 
CORIE  : 

You  jest  mind  your  own   business   an'   you'll   git 

along  better! 

(MAZIE  exits.) 

CORIE  : 

Nosey  little  good-fer-nothin'.  She  alms  did  want 
to  know  too  much!  What's  she  wearin'  a  flower 
in  her  hair  fer?  To  git  the  men  folks  to  look 
at  her?  It's  her'n  maw  comin'  out  in  her. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

I  didn't  see  it.  My  eyes  air  gettin'  bad.  I  tell 
John  but  he  wouldn't  care  if  I  went  blind.  She's 
been  singin'  all  day.  Last  night  she  got  a  letter 


50  WILD  BIRDS 

from  Marshall,  that  ornery  hired  man  that  quit 
us.  I  read  it.  He  said  he  was  tryin'  to  git  the 
trap  open.  What  do  you  suppose  he  meant? 

CORIE  : 

I  dunno  but  I  told  you  I  heard  'em  talkin'  by 
the  well  early  that  mornin'. 

MRS.  SLAG   (hopelessly)  : 

She'll  never  come  to  no  good,  that's  sartain. 
Them  sort  of  children  never  do,  anyhow.  We 
gave  her  a  good  home  an'  everything  but  it  don't 
do  no  good. 

CORIE  : 

Whar's  paw? 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Asleep  in  the  house  bein'  as  it's  Sunday.  He 
jest  come  back  from  camp  meetin'.  I  couldn't 
go  'cause  I  had  too  much  work.  John  says  he 
kin  pray  enough  fer  the  lot  of  us.  Now,  he's 
all  tired  out  an'  cross  as  a  bear.  It  don't  do 
him  no  good  to  go  to  meetin'  an'  little  he  prayed! 

(MAZIE  re-enters  with  the  eggs.) 

MAZIE  : 

Red  Jinny  air  settin'.  Thar'll  be  little  chicks 
soon! 

MRS.  SLAG   (taking  the  basket)  : 

Git  inter  the  house  an'  take  that  flower  out  of 
your'n  hair,  (to  CORIE)  I'll  walk  a  little  ways 
with  you,  Corie.  (They  exit  together  going  down 
the  road,  right.) 

(MAZIE  pauses  at  the  foot  of  the  steps;  removes  the 
white  flower  from  her  hair  and  stands  twirling 
it  between  her  fingers.  ADAM  enters  from  the 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  51 

direction  of  the  well.  He  turns  abruptly  on  see 
ing  MAZTE  and  starts  to  go  back  the  way  he  has 
come.) 

MAZTE  (calling  impetuously)  : 
Adam  !    Adam !    Wait  ! 

ADAM  : 

I-I   f ergot  the   spade.      (He  is  almost  off  stage.) 

MAZIE  (running  to  him)  : 

What's  the  matter,  Adam?  (She  puts  a  tender, 
seeking  hand  on  his  arm.) 

ADAM  : 

N-nothin'.  I-I  jest  f ergot  the  spade.  I  hev  to 
git  it.  (He  turns  his  head  away  avoiding  her 
searching,  misted  glance.} 

MAZIE  : 

This  mornin'  at  breakfast  you  wouldn't  look  at 
me.  You  kept  your  eyes  on  your  plate.  You 
didn't  even  see  that  I  had  one  of  last  night's 
star -fires  in  my  hair.  This  one.  When  I  combed 
my  hair  last  night  I  found  it  there,  so  I  put  it 
in  water  an'  kept  it  fresh  fer  you  to  look  at  this 
mornin',  an'  remember  how  you  covered  me  all 
over  with  star-fires,  (proffering  him  the  flozver) 
Ain't  it  little  an'  sweet,  Adam? 

ADAM   (pushing  it  away)  : 
Don't,  Mazie — I — I — 

MAZIE  : 

I  dreamed  about  you  all  night,  Adam.  Sometimes 
I  was  happy — so  happy  I  could  sing.  Then  I 
would  git  sad,  I  don't  know  why,  an'  the  smell 
of  the  star-fires  would  git  too  strong.  But  when 
you  would  kiss  me  like  you  did  last  night  an' 


52  WILD  BIRDS 

the  first  time,  when   I  was  the  ol'  chief's  darter, 

then  I  was  happy  agin  an'  I  would  sing  as  high 

as  a  wilier  bird.  .  .(her  voice  soars.) 
ADAM  : 

Shh,  you  must  not  tell  anybody  about  last  night. 

You  must  not  talk  about  it  so  loud.     We  must 

not  go  out  inter  the  fields  together  no  more. 
MAZIE  : 

Why  not?     Is  that  why  you   won't  look   at  me? 
ADAM  : 

Yes.     It  warn't  right. 
MAZIE  : 

Not  right  to  kiss? 
ADAM  : 

I   hev   not   forgotten   things   my   mother   told   me, 

sittin'    by    the    winder    at    home.      With    all    bad 

things    I    larned    in    the    reform    school,    I    have 

remembered   what  my  mother   said. 
MAZIE  : 

It   must   be   wonderful   to    remember   things   your 

mother  said — 
ADAM    (firmly)  : 

We   must   not   go   out   in    the   fields    at   night   no 

more,    Mazie.      No   more    in   the    fields    at   night! 

I   fergot  the   spade.     I  must  go   an'   git  it.      (He 

starts  out.) 
MAZIE   (desperately)  : 

Adam — Adam — everything    air    so    dark,    like    the 

well.     Tell  me  things.     Tell  me  what  your  mother 

told  you. 
ADAM  (shaking  his  head)  : 

Boys  can't  tell  gals  them  things. 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  53 

MAZIE: 

Oh,  Adam,  I  air  so  alone.  I  was  happy  last 
night  when  I  was  covered  with  star-fires.  Under 
them  I  was  cryin' — I  did  not  let  you  see  me — 
but  I  was.  I  was  cryin'  because  I  was  so  happy — 
because  I  thought  I  could  not  be  lonely  any  more 
— because  I  thought  you  would  love  me  an'  tell 
me  things.  Now — now — it's — its —  (she  turns 
away;  bows  her  head  in  her  hands  and  walks  up 
toivard  the  fence.} 

ADAM    (fighting')  : 

Mazie — little   Mazie — I    do   love   you — but — but — 

(MAZIE  bows  herself  on  the  fence) 

ADAM  : 

Mazie — Mazie — 

(A  poignant  sob  escapes  MAZIE.  It  is  like  a  knife 
stuck  in  the  heart  of  the  boy.  He  goes  to  her. 
He  takes  her  in  his  arms.) 

ADAM: 

Mazie,  dear.  Dear  Mazie,  don't  cry.  I  love  you, 
Mazie.  I  love  you.  (throwing  back  his  head) 
I  won't  be  askeered.  I  will  speak  to  John  Slag. 

MAZIE   (betzveen  sharp  sobs)  : 
W-what  will  you  say  to  him? 

ADAM  : 

I  will  speak  to  him ! 

MAZIE  : 

Oh,  be  careful  of  him,  Adam.  He  air  a  hard 
man.  He  will  take  the  hoss  whip  to  you. 

JOHN  SLAG  (calling  gruffly  from  the  house)  : 
Martie !     Martie ! 


54  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  : 

That  air  him  now.     Oh,  I  air  askeered. 

ADAM  : 

Go  inter  the  house,  Mazie.  I  will  speak  to  John 
Slag — like  a  man.  (His  shoulders  go  back.) 

MAZIE  : 

Adam,  I  air  skeered  fer  you.  (She  throws  her 
arms  around  him.) 

ADAM  : 

Mazie,  don't  you  be  skeered.  (He  kisses  her; 
then  gently  unlocks  her  arms  from  around  his 
waist. ) 

JOHN  SLAG   (still  inside  the  house)  : 
Martie !     Whar   air  you,   Martie  ? 

ADAM  : 

Please  go,  Mazie,  an'  let  me  face  this — like  a 
man. 

(MAZIE  exits,  running,  around  the  side  of  the  house. 
ADAM  seems  to  brace  himself.  His  fists  clench. 
His  slim,  boy  body  straightens  and  seems  to  be 
come  taller.  He  goes  toward  the  door  of  the 
house.) 

(Enter  JOHN  SLAG,  his  hair  ruffled,  his  eyes  red- 
rimmed  from  sleep.) 

JOHN  SLAG    (viciously)  : 

Martie!  (He  sees  ADAM  standing  there,  head 
high  with  determination.)  Waal,  what  air  you 
wantin'  ? 

ADAM  : 

Mr.   Slag,   I   air   wantin'  to  ask   a   favor   of  you. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Thar  hain't  no   favors  given. 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  55 

ADAM   (all  in  one  desperate  breath)  : 

Mr.  Slag,  I  air  in  love  with  Mazie  an'  Mazie 
air  in  love  with  me.  I  want  to  marry  Mazie. 

JOHN  SLAG  (his  cruel  eyes  glaring)  : 
What?     Say  that  agin! 

ADAM  : 

I  want  to  marry  Mazie. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Gawd  damn  you!  I've  a  mind  to  kill  you!  (He 
raises  a  great  fist.) 

ADAM   (swallowing  dryly  but  standing  firm)  : 
I  want  to  marry   Mazie. 

JOHN  SLAG  (holding  the  boy  by  the  neck  ivith  one 
hand  and  putting  his  other  hand,  doubled  up  into 
a  fist,  against  the  boy's  face  and  pressing  the 
knuckles  into  his  cheek  as  he  speaks  slozvly)  : 
A  baby  like  you  talkin'  about  gettin'  married — 
A  little  weak  baby  talkin'  about  gettin'  married! 
(The  fist  is  hurting  the  boy's  cheek.  He  stiffens 
his  jaw  and  the  cords  of  his  neck  tighten.)  Ha, 
ha !  That  air  funny.  A  little  reform  school  boy 
wantin'  to  git  married! 

ADAM  (now  clinging  to  SLAG'S  zvrist  in  the  endeavor 
to  push  back  the  fist  that  is  slowly  tearing  his 
cheek)  : 

I  air  man  enough  to  be  plowin'  from  early  morn- 
in'  till  late  at  night  fer  you.  I  air  man  enough 
fer  that! 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Yes,  an'  you'd  be  droppin'  behind  the  plow  if  you 
wasn't  skeered  o'  my  hoss  whip  an'  my  fist — 
an'  I'll  use  'em  both  if  you  ever  speak  about 


56  WILD  BIRDS 

marryin'  Mazie  agin !  You  belong  to  me.  I 
saved  you  from  the  men  who  was  goin'  to  take, 
you  back  to  whar  you  really  belong.  I  gev  you 
a  good  home  an'  this  here  air  the  thanks  I  git. 
(with  neiv  fury)  Damn  you!  Damn  you!  I've 
a  good  mind  to  push  this  fist  clear  through  yer 
face. 

ADAM  (squirming  as  the  fist  is  pressed  even  tighter)  : 
Don't — Don't — you're — you're  hurtin'  me. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

That's  the  sort  of  a  man  you  air.  The  sort  of  a 
man  who  wants  to  git  married.  (Mimicking  him.) 
You're  hurtin'  me. 

ADAM  : 

I  only  want  to  do  the  right  thing.  Mazie  don't 
know  nothin'.  She  don't  know  the  things  the 
boys  talked  about  in  the  night  time  when  the 
lights  was  out.  I  want  to  do  right  things — not 
bad  things. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

You  jest  try  anything!  You  jest  go  ahead  and 
try.  You  stinkin'  baby !  Jest  you  try  anything ! 
(He  sends  ADAM  sprawling  on  the  ground  with 
a  push  of  his  fist.  He  stands  over  him.)  Jest 
you  begin  any  o'  yer  tricks !  Jest  you  begin. 

(Enter  MRS.  SLAG.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Oh,  John,  what's  the  matter? 

JOHN  SLAG  (turning  on  MRS.  SLAG)  : 

You  watch  out  fer  that  bastard  gal.  She  air 
foller'n  in  the  footsteps  of  her'n  maw.  This  here 
baby  air  wantin'  to  marry  her.  Look  at  him— 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  57 

skeered  to  death — an'  wantin'  to  git  married. 
(He  laughs  and  digs  him  with  the  toes  of  his 
heavy  boot.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

I  thought  thar  was  sometin'  wrong.  Flowers  in 
her  hair — an'  singin'.  Whar  air  she? 

ADAM    (raising  himself  up)  : 

Mazie  didn't  do  nothin'.  It  air  all  my  fault.  I 
done  it  all.  I'm  bad.  She  didn't  know  nothin'. 
It  air  all  my  fault. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Shet  up!  (to  MRS.  SLAG)  She  air  in  the  kitchen, 
I  reckon.  (MRS.  SLAG  goes  to  exit.) 

(Enter  MILT  POLLARD  from  the  right.  He  is  pant 
ing.  His  face  is  wet  ivith  perspiration.) 

MILT   (zvildly)  : 

Paw  Slag,  come  quick  an'  help !  Our'n  barn  air 
on  fire!  (He  turns  and  dashes  back.  JOHN 
SLAG,  muttering  oaths,  follows  him.) 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

Oh,  my  Heavens,  everything's  happenin'  at  once ! 
(She  too,  folloivs.) 

(ADAM  raises  himself  up  slowly.  He  seems  dazed. 
He  stands,  for  a  moment,  feeling  his  bruised 
cheek.  Then  he  runs  to  the  fence  and  looks 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  POLLARD  farm.) 

(MAZIE  enters  around  the  side  of  the  house.) 

MAZIE  : 

Adam — Adam — did  he  hurt  you  ? 

ADAM  : 

No,  but  he'll  be  hurtin'  you.  We  must  do  some- 
thin' — we  must  do  somethin' 


58  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  : 

Why  will  he  be  hurtin'  me — because  we  kissed 
each  other? 

ADAM  : 

Oh,  if  home  wasn't  so  fer  away — if  I  only  had 
some  money — if — if 

MAZIE  : 

What's  it  all  about,  Adam?  Jest  because  we  love 
each  other? 

ADAM  : 

I  want  to  do  what  air  right.  I  want  to  do  what 
air  right. 

(Enter  SANDY  ROBERTS   on   the  road  from   the  left. 
He  leans  over  the  fence  and  points  at  them.) 

SANDY : 

Psst !     Psst !  . 

(ADAM  and  MAZIE  turn  about,  startled.) 

SANDY : 

He,  he,  I  hev  been  watchin'  you  from  behind  the 
well.  I  hev  had  a  grand  day.  I  hev  been  out 
since  sunup.  The  winder  was  open.  I  climbed 
out  an'  got  my  feet  nice  an'  wet  on  the  grass  an' 
through  the  star-fires.  (He  holds  up  first  one 
bare  foot  and  then  the  other.)  If  I  git  cold  I 
hain't  carin'.  He,  he.  I  hev  had  such  a  grand 
day,  wanderin'  all  by  myself — (coming  through 
the  fence.)  But  now  I  air  tired.  I  air  goin'  to 
sleep  tonight !  At  night  ol'  folks  git  tired — but 
not  young  folks — He,  he,  not  young  folks — he, 
he— 

MAZIE  : 

Oh,  Sandy,  we  air  in  trouble. 


ACT  2— SCENE  1  59 

SANDY : 

I  know — I  know — (nearer  to  them)  Tonight  air 
full  moon — It  air  goin'  to  be  light  like  day  on  the 
prairie.  Why  don't  you  run  away  from  yer 
trouble?  It  air  goin'  to  be  a  grand  night  to  run 
away.  I  know  the  best  nights  to  run  away. 

ADAM  : 

Shall  we  try  it,  Mazie? 

MAZIE  (excitedly)  : 

Oh,  yes,  yes  !  (then)  Waal,  anything  you  say,  Adam. 

ADAM    (after  a  pause  of  indecision)  : 

Maybe  we  kin  git  home.  Maybe  we'll  be  lucky 
an'  git  home. 

SANDY : 

Keep  under  kiver  in  the  day,  Adam.  Walk  at 
night  but  keep  under  kiver  in  the  day.  I'm 
rememberin'  the  first  time  I  ran  away.  I  was 
jest  about  this  high  (indicates  with  his  hand).  I 
took  my  dog.  I  hid  till  night  time  in  some  bushes. 
I  kin  remember  them  bushes.  They  smelled 
sweet.  Thar  was  red  flowers  on  'em.  But  I 
had  to  hold  my  dog's  nose  'cause  they  made  him 
sneeze  an'  folks  would  hear  him. 

ADAM  : 

Mazie,  I  know  a  thick  place  in  the  creek  willers. 
We'll  hide  thar  till  night. 

MAZIE  : 

I  will  take  a  loaf  of  bread  from  the  kitchen.  You 
will  git  hungry,  Adam. 

SANDY : 

He,  he,  if  I  was  young,  I'd  go  too.  Thar  hain't 
no  more  fun  than  runnin'  awav ! 


60  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  : 

An'    water    from   the    well,    Mazie.      You    git   the 

loaf    of    bread    an'    I'll    git    the    water.      Quick! 

Quick !     They'll  be  comin'  back. 
SANDY   (up  to  the  fence)  : 

He,  he,  the  fire  air  burnin'.     The  fire  air  burnin'. 
ADAM  : 

Quick,  Mazie  !     Quick ! 
MAZIE   (exiting)  : 

All  right,  Adam.      (She  exits.) 
ADAM  : 

You  won't  tell,  will  you,  Sandy? 
SANDY  (staring  off  at  the  fire)  : 

They   air  throwin'   water   on   it — but   it   won't   go 

out! 
ADAM    (exiting  toward  the  ivell)  : 

I  wonder  if  luck  air  with  us? 
SANDY : 

The   fire   air   burnin' — the   fire   air   burnin' — They 

can't  put  it  out !     He,  he,  they  can't  put  it  out ! 

(THE  CURTAIN  FALLS) 


ACT  2. 
SCENE  2 

The  canvas  wall  of  the  Evangelical  tent  on  the  out 
skirts  of  a  small  settlement,  that  evening.  Service 
is  going  on.  A  hymn  is  being  sung.  The 
untrained  voices  of  the  choir  and  congregation  are 
accompanied  by  a  small  wheezing  organ.  Moon 
light  floods  the  wall  of  the  tent. 


ACT  2— SCENE  2  61 

THE  SINGERS: 

"Lead  kindly  light,  amid  the  encirclin'  gloom 
Lead  Thou  me  on — 

The  night  air  dark  an'  I  air  fer  from  home — 

Lead  Thou  me  on — 
(ADAM  and  MAZIE  enter  from  the  right,  having  come 

across     a     field.       They     are     rather     breathless. 

MAZIE  has  the  sparkle  of  great  adventure  in  her 

eyes.      ADAM'S    eyes   are   full    of   anxiety.      They 

pause  and  listen  to  the  singing  of  the  hymn.    The 

voices  die  away.     The  organ  music  stops.) 
ADAM  : 

Shall  we  go  in,  Mazie? 
MAZIE  : 

Jest  as  you  say,  Adam. 
ADAM  : 

The  preacher  might  help.     If  we  tell  him  every 
thing  he  might  help  us. 
MAZIE  : 

Anything  you  want  to  do,  I'll  do,  Adam. 
ADAM  : 

If  we  tell  him  the  truth  he  might  help  us  to  git 

home — or  he  might  marry  us — 
MAZIE  (taking  his  hand)  : 

Let's  go  in.     (They  take  a  few  steps.     The  voice 

of  the  preacher  is  heard.) 
ADAM': 

Listen.      (They  pause.) 
(The  preacher's  voice  is  raised  high  and  wrathfully. 

It  is  a  cracked,  coarse  voice,  ruined  by  strenuous 

shouting. ) 


62  WILD  BIRDS 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PREACHER: 

An'  Jesus  Christ  said,  "Ye  serpents— Ye  hypo 
crites — Ye  generation  of  vipers,  how  can  you 
escape  the  damnation  of  Hell !"  And  so  I  say 
the  same  to  you  !  You  poor  ornery  sinners  sittin' 
here  before  me — Hell's  flames  air  leapin'  up  to 
you  now — burnin'  yer  feet  an'  you  can't  even 
feel  'em!  The  stink  of  brimstone  an'  Hell's  fire 
air  in  yer  nostrils  an'  you  can't  even  smell  it! 
Oh,  ye  serpents!  Oh,  you  hypocrites!  Oh,  you 
generation  of  vipers !  Hell's  doors  air  open  to 
you  an'  you  air  all  walkin'  in !  Let  us  pray. 

A  WOMAN'S  VOICE   (high  pitched  in  hysteria)  : 
Oh  !     Oh  !     Oh ! 

A  MAN'S  VOICE: 

Oh,  Lord!     Lord!     Lord! 

ANOTHER  WOMAN'S  VOICE: 

I  air  a  sinner !       A  sinner !     Oh  !     Oh  !     Oh  ! 

MAZIE   (clinging  to  Adam's  arm)  : 

Oh,  Adam,  I  air  skeered  of  him.     Let's  not  go  in. 

ADAM  : 

He  won't  help  us.  He'll  say  we  air  bad.  Let's 
go  on,  Mazie — across  the  prairie — toward  home. 

MAZIE  (pointing  out)  : 

Look,  Adam !  The  star-fires  air  all  like  silver 
under  the  moon.  It  will  be  fun  walkin'  through 
'em — feelin'  'em  catchin'  agin  yer  feet. 

ADAM    (moving  off)  : 

We  must  walk  fast,  Mazie.     We  must  not  stop. 

MAZIE   (following  him)  : 

Not  even — if  we  git  tired  ? 


ACT  2— SCENE  3  63 

ADAM   (firmly)  : 

Not  even  if  we  git  tired.     Come  on,  Mazie.  (They 

exit.) 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PREACHER   (ending  the  prayer)  : 

— keep  thy  sheep,  Oh   Lord.     Amen. 

(CURTAIN) 

ACT  2. 

SCENE  3. 

SCENE  3. — Far  out  on  the  prairie,  later  that  same 
night.  A  place  among  big  rocks.  Off  beyond  it, 
out  of  sight  from  the  audience,  is  a  graveyard, 
the  few  stones  standing  like  gray  ghosts  under 
the  moon.  The  moonlight  touches  the  tips  of  the 
rocks  but  the  base  of  them  is  in  thick  shadow. 
THE  TRAMP  has  lighted  a  small  fire  bet-ween  tivo 
small  stones.  In  a  tomato  can  he  is  cooking 
soup.  He  is  a  ragged,  indistinct  figure  wJiistling 
to  himself  as  he  breaks  up  some  twigs  and  adds 
them  to  the  fire,  using  one  to  stir  the  contents 
of  the  can. 

(ADAM  and  MAZIE  come  on  above  him  and  peer 
down  betzveen  the  rocks  at  him.  He  becomes 
azvare  of  them  and  stops  whistling.) 

THE  TRAMP: 

Hello,  you,  up  thar. 

ADAM  : 

Hello.     Kin  you  tell  me  what  town  that  air,   fer 
off,  with  all  the  lights  twinklin'  ? 

THE  TRAMP: 

That   air   Halifax.      Better   stay   away   from   thar. 


64  WILD  BIRDS 

It  air  full  of  dogs.     (He  continues  to  whistle  and 

to  stir  the  contents  of  the  can.     ADAM  and  MAZIE 

come    down    to    the    fire.      MAZIE    holds    ADAM'S 

hand.     She  has  put  a  wreath  of  star-fires  around 

her    head,    drawn    tightly    over    the    black    hair. 

They  stand  and  watch  the  tramp  for  a  moment, 

trying  to  think  of  something  to  say.) 
MAZIE  : 

Air  you  a  tramp? 
THE  TRAMP: 

I   air  a  member  of  that  order.     An'   who   might 

you  be?     The  fairy  queen? 

MAZIE    (smiling   and    touching    the   wreath    of  star- 
fires')  : 

Oh — you    mean    the    star-fires.      Yes,    it    air    my 

crown.     Ain't  it  my  crown,  Adam? 
ADAM  : 

Yes.     (to  the  tramp)     Do  you  know  whar  Ashton 

air  from  here? 
THE  TRAMP   (scratching  his  head)  : 

Ashton? — Seems     like     I     do.       Air     it     on     the 

railroad  ? 
ADAM  : 

No.      The    railroad    air    five    miles    away.      You 

take  a  stage. 
THE  TRAMP: 

That  hain't  my  way  of  travel.     Ashton?    Ashton? 

No,   can't  say  that  I   do.     You  goin'  thar? 
ADAM: 

Yes. 
THE  TRAMP: 

Walkin'  all  the  way? 


ACT  2— SCENE  3  65 

ADAM  : 
Yes. 

THE  TRAMP: 

The  little  gal  looks  tired.  Why  don't  you  stay 
here  an'  rest?  It'll  be  better  walkin'  in  the 
mornin'.  I  picked  this  place  'cause  it's  warm 
between  these  rocks.  Thar's  liable  to  be  a  cold 
wind  over  the  prairie  'fore  mornin'.  Better  stay 
an'  hev  some  soup.  (He  stirs  with  vigor.) 

MAZIE  : 

Adam,  let's  stay.     I'm  awful  tired. 

ADAM    (firmly')  : 

No,  Mazie.  We  must  not  stop.  We  must  git 
as  fer  as  we  kin  tonight,  (to  the  tramp)  But 
if  you  could  give  her  some  soup  I'd  be  thankful 
to  you. 

THE  TRAMP  (bringing  out  three  cups  from  behind  a 
stone)  : 

It's  Garry's  special — Garry's  my  name.  Father 
was  Irish — My  mother  was  Spanish,  that's  the 
reason  I  took  to  the  road.  (He  pours  the  soup 
into  the  cups.) 

MAZIE  : 

An'  we'll  hev  some  bread  with  it.  (She  breaks 
the  bread.) 

THE  TRAMP: 

Thar  you  air.     Smell  good? 

MAZIE  : 

Oh,  yes.  (She  takes  her  cup.  SJie  puts  it  to  her 
lips.) 

THE  TRAMP: 

Look  out,  it's  hot. 


66  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  (sipping)  : 

Oh,  Adam,  it  air  good! 
ADAM   (also  sipping)  : 

You  bet  it  air  good ! 
THE  TRAMP  (reaching  for  a  bit  of  bread)  : 

Set  down  on  the  big  stone  while  you're  drinkin' 

it,  anyhow. 
ADAM  : 

Umm — Well (He  sits  down.     MAZIE,  with  a 

little  sigh,  sinks  down  beside  him.    For  a  moment 

the  three  sip  their  soup  and  say  nothing.    At  last 

the  tramp  speaks.) 
THE  TRAMP  (to  ADAM)  : 

Air  she  your  sister? 
ADAM   (uncomfortably)  : 

No.     (He  blows  on  the  soup.) 
THE  TRAMP: 

Can't  be  you  two  young'uns  are  married  ? 

ADAM  : 

We  air  goin'  to  git  married  when  we  git  home — 
to  Ashton. 

MAZIE  (breathing  it  faintly)  : 
Yes 

THE  TRAMP  : 

Ho,  ho,  I  see !  Elopers  is  what  you  air !  Well, 
well,  thar's  romance  in  the  old  world  yet,  I  see. 
That's  why  I  couldn't  stay  put  between  four 
wooden  walls.  You  don't  stumble  into  delicious 
things  between  four  wooden  walls  like  you  do  on 
the  road.  So  you're  elopers!  An'  her  with  a 
wreath  on  her  head,  as  pretty  as  a  fairy!  Oh, 


ACT  2— SCENE  3  67 

my  father  would  hev  loved  this.  He  was  brought 
up  on  fairies,  an'  my  mother's  eyes  would  hev 
rilled  with  tears,  she  was  that  way  built.  I've 
seen  her  weep  over  crushed  eggs  in  a  nest.  Elop 
ers  !  Well,  well 

ADAM  : 

We  air  not — exactly  that.  , 

MAZIE  : 

We  air  runnin'  away,  that  air  what  we  air  doin'. 
We  hev  been  very  sad — but  we  air  goin'  to  be 
nappy,  in  a  little  while.  (pointing]  Ooh,  see 
the  shootin'  star ! 

THE  TRAMP: 

Yes,  it  went  right  over  the  graveyard,  as  if  it 
was  bringin'  somebody  thar. 

ADAM  : 

Air  that  a  graveyard? 

THE  TRAMP: 

Yes,  an  old  one.  Them  air  the  stones  shinin'  in 
the  moonlight. 

ADAM  : 

From  here  they  look  like  sheep. 

THE  TRAMP  (pensively)  : 

They  air  sheep  what  hev  been  gathered  in.  (to 
MAZIE  who  sits  gazing  off,  her  eyes  quite  wide) 
Finished  yer  soup? 

MAZIE: 

Oh,  yes.  It  was  good,  too.  Adam,  let's  stay 
here.  (Snuggling  down.)  It  air  warm.  Feel  the 
rock.  It  air  warm  like  a  stove  from  the  fire. 
(Her  head  nods.} 


68  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  : 

No,  no,   Mazie.     We  must  go  on.      (He   collects 

the  uneaten   bread.) 
THE  TRAMP: 

What's  the  awful  hurry,  sonny?     Air  you  scared 

of  somethin'? 
ADAM  : 

Yes. 
THE  TRAMP: 

Of  what? 
ADAM  : 

Oh — of  everything. 
THE  TRAMP: 

That's    funny   fer   a   boy.      Now   if   the   little   gal 

said  that 

ADAM  : 

You    don't    understand    an'    I    ain't    got    time    to 

explain.     Come  on,   Mazie.      (He  helps  her  up.) 
MAZIE  : 

Oh,  Adam,  I  air — 
ADAM  : 

I   know   your   feet   air   tired   an'   I   know   you   air 

sleepy,  but,  Mazie,  we  must  go  on — 
THE  TRAMP: 

Goodbye,  young'uns.     You  make  me  think  of  wild 

things   runnin'    from   a   forest   fire   like   I    seen   in 

the  North  Woods,  once. 
ADAM  : 

Thanks    fer   the    soup,    sir.      If   you    air    ever    up 

Ashton    way,     come     an' (drawing     suddenly 

back) — Who    air    that,    comin'    up    between    the 

rocks  ? 


ACT  2— SCENE  3  69 

THE  TRAMP  (looking  off)  : 

Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  him.  He  passed 
here  jest  afore  sundown.  He  was  goin'  to  the 
graveyard.  He  had  a  kind  voice.  He  stood  by 
the  fence  of  the  graveyard  fer  a  long  time,  till  I 
couldn't  see  him  no  more  count  of  the  darkness 
an'  the  moon  hadn't  showed  yet.  One  of  them 
gathered-in  sheep  was  his,  I  reckon.  Don't  run 
from  him. 

ADAM: 

We  must !     We  can't  meet  nobody. 

THE  TRAMP: 

You  can't  go  that  way  without  bumpin'  inter  him 
on  the  path.  The  rocks  on  each  side  of  it  air 
thick  as  forest  trees.  Go  back  the  way  you  come. 

(ADAM  and  MAZIE  climb  the  slope  again,  between  the 
tall  rocks.  They  scurry  down  the  other  side  of 
them  and  loose  rocks  on  the  slope  are  heard 
tumbling  after  them.  The  TRAMP  whistles,  stick 
ing  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  A  tall,  square  figure 
appears  from  the  direction  of  the  graveyard.  It 
is  GEORGE  MARSHALL.  He  comes  doivn  to  the 
fire.  He  looks  up  to  the  tall  rocks  where  the 
loose  rocks  are  still  slipping  down  behind  the 
hurried  flight  of  ADAM  and  MAZIE.) 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

Sounds    like    somethin'    wild    runnin'    down   those 

rocks.     Hear  it? 
THE  TRAMP: 

Yep.      Prairie   mice,    I    guess — or    a    fox.      Have 

some  soup? 


70  WILD  BIRDS 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

No,  thank  you.     I  air  goin'  on  now. 

THE  TRAMP: 

Did  you  find  what  you  was  loinkin'  fer? 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 
Not  all. 

THE  TRAMP: 

An'  you  won't  hev  no  soup?  It's  good.  The 
young'uns — Waal,  anyhow  it's  good.  Garry's 
special — 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

I  know  it  air  good  an'  I'd  like  to  share  it  with 
you,  but  I  can't  jest  now.  Fm  tryin'  to  pick  up 
lost  threads  an'  thar's  no  time  to  waste,  pickin' 
up  lost  threads.  Goodbye  to  you,  Mister  Garry. 
A  pleasant  night  among  the  rocks. 

THE  TRAMP: 

Goodnight  to  you,  sir.  We'll  meet  agin  some 
time,  on  the  road. 

GEORGE  MARSHALL  (going)  : 

Yes.  I  reckon  we  all  meet  agin  sometime — 
somewhars — (He  goes.) 

THE    TRAMP    (making    himself    comfortable    by    the 
fire): 

Wonder  what  he's  wanderin'  off  on  the  prairie 
fer?  Pickin'  up  lost  threads — Humm — Some 
times  you  can — Sometimes  you  can't — Sometimes 
thar're  too  mixed  up — broken,  some  air.  (He 
curls  up  and  falls  to  whistling  the  same  air  as  he 
whistled  in  the  beginning.  Then  something  makes 
him  straighten  up  and  look  off  in  the  direction  of 
the  graveyard.) 


ACT  2-SCENE  3  71 

THE  TRAMP: 

Ah,  thar  they  go,  rimnin'  hand  in  hand.  Two 
little  specks  like  things  blowed  by  wind  on  the 
prairie.  Past  the  graveyard — scared,  I  bet.  Little 
wild  things — Elopers — Humm — well,  well — (curl 
ing  up  again)  Little  wild  things — elopers — elop 
ers  in  the  night — 

(He  whistles  once  more  as  the  curtain  sloivl\  falls.) 

(CURTAIN) 


72  WILD  BIRDS 

ACT  3. 

SCENE  1. 

SCENE  1. — The  same  as  Acts  1  and  2.  Five  months 
later.  It  is  now  late  fall.  The  tree,  over  the 
well,  has  dropped  its  leaves.  There  have  been 
frosts  at  night.  The  prairie  is  brown  and  brood 
ing,  lying  like  a  thing  afraid  of  encroaching 
winter. 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  MAZIE  crosses  from  behind 
the  house  to  the  well,  carrying  the  wooden  water 
bucket.  She  walks  ivith  her  head  doivn,  the 
flower-like  tilt  to  her  chin  lost.  Her  movements 
are  no  longer  bird-like.  The  wonder  of  things 
is  still  in  her  eyes  but  a  veil  of  heavy  sadness  is 
drawn  across  them. 

(ESTHEY   KEN  YON   comes  along   the   road   from   the 

left.     She  goes  toward  the  door  of  the  house.) 
ESTHEY  (calling)  : 

Mrs.  Slag!     Oh,  Mrs.  Slag! 
(MAZIE,,  about  to  exit  to  the  well,  turns.) 
MAZIE  : 

Esthey,  whar  air  Sandy?  Air  he  sick? 
ESTHEY  (eyeing  her  coldly  up  and  down)  : 

No,  he  air  not  sick.     (She  then  deliberately  turns 

her  back  on  MAZIE.     MAZIE  exits.) 
ESTHEY: 

Mrs.  Slag!     Oh,  Mrs.  Slag,  air  you  thar? 
MRS.  SLAG  (entering  from  the  house)  : 

Hello,   Esthey.     Won't  you  come   in?     The   air's 

sharp  after  the  heavy  frost. 


ACT  3— SCENE  1  73 

ESTHEY  : 

No,  thanks,  Mrs.  Slag.  I  jest  come  over  to  git 
a  lend  of  that  dress  pattern  you  was  tellin'  me 
about.  Now  that  harvesting  through,  I  kin  git 
time  to  make  some  new  print  dresses. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

I  air  sorry,  Esthey,  but  Corie  air  usin'  it.  After 
she  gits  through  with  it  you  kin  hev  it. 

ESTHEY  : 

That'll  be  fine.  (Sitting  down  on  a  bench.)  I'll 
set  fer  a  second.  That's  a  long  walk  an'  paw's 
sich  a  worry  that  I  air  tired  all  the  time. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

What  did  you  do  with  him?  He  hain't  been 
around  lately. 

ESTHEY  : 

I  keep  him  locked  up  in  the  shed,  all  the  time 
now.  I  couldn't  keep  track  of  him  so  Pete  an' 
me  put  him  in  the  shed.  It's  nice  in  thar  but  he 
cries  an'  makes  an  awful  fuss  jest  like  a  baby. 
At  night  he  nearly  drives  me  crazy.  If  he  warn't 
my  father  I'd  put  him  away  some  place  but  I 
hate  the  disgrace  of  it. 

MRS.  SLAG  (sighing)  : 

You  an'  me  hev  our'n  worries,  don't  we,  Esthey? 
Here's  me  on  the  watch  every  minute  to  keep 
Adam  an'  Mazie  away  from  each  other  an'  from 
tryin'  to  run  away  agin.  I  told  John,  last  night, 
I'd  rather  send  'em  both  back  to  whar  they  belong 
an'  do  all  the  chores  myself  than  hev  things  the 
way  they  air  now.  I'm  that  nervous  I  could 
holler. 


74  WILD  BIRDS 

ESTHEY  : 

Mrs.  Slag,  jest  what  place  was  it  you  found  'em 
that  night  they  run  away?  I  kin  never  remember 
the  name  an'  last  night  I  had  a  wrangle  about 
it  with  Pete.  He  sez  it  was  Carston  but  it 
wasn't,  was  it? 

MRS.  SLAG: 

No.  It  was  at  High  Meadows.  They  walked  all 
night  an'  they  passed  through  Carston.  That's 
whar  the  man  seen  'em  an'  told  John.  John 
found  'em  settin'  beside  the  road  in  the  high 
grass  eatin'  the  loaf  of  bread  Mazie  stold  from 
me. 

ESTHEY  (shaking  her  head)  : 

They  air  bad'uns.  Dear  me,  an'  you  gev  'em  sich 
a  good  home,  too. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Waal,  you  can't  expect  nothin'  else.  The  boy's 
from  a  reform  school  an'  the  gal  hain't  legitimate. 
I  tell  John,  all  the  time,  to  git  rid  of  'em  but  he 
won't.  He  says  they  belong  to  him  an'  he's  a 
stubborn  man. 

ESTHEY  (rising)  : 

Don't  tell  me !  I  know  men.  Hain't  I  got  my 
hands  full  with  Pete?  Oh,  Lors,  I  got  to  git 
back. 

MRS.  SLAG  (walking  to  the  fence  with  her)  : 

Feels  warmer  now.  Guess  we'll  have  rain  afore 
night. 

ESTHEY  : 

It  does  feel  warmer  an'  thar's  clouds.  (She  starts 
up  the  road.)  Goodbye,  Mrs.  Slag.  When  Corie 


ACT  3— SCENE  1  75 

air  through  with  the  pattern  let  me  know,  if  you 
don't  mind. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

I'll  let  you  know,  first  thing.     Goodbye,   Esthey. 

(ESTHEY  exits.) 

MRS.  SLAG  (coming  back  and  looking  in  the  direction 
of  the  well)  : 

Mazie,  you  leave  off  lookin'  down  that  well  all 
the  time.  Draw  that  water  an'  come  in !  I  air 
tired  of  talkin'  to  you  about  that  well ! 

(MRS.  SLAG  exits  into  the  house.) 

(MAZIE  returns  with  the  bucket  of  water.  It  is 
heavy  for  her.  She  sets  it  down.  She  stands 
with  her  head  bowed.') 

(Enter  ADAM  running.     He  limps,  slightly.) 

ADAM  : 

Mazie,  I  made  a  short  cut  across  the  creek  lot. 
John  Slag  air  comin'  the  long  way.  I  thought  I 
might  git  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  afore  he  gits 
here.  You  looked  at  me  so  funny-like  at  break 
fast  this  mornin'. 

MAZIE  (with  a  little,  uncontrolled  sob)  : 

Adam — I  air  so  lonely  an'  I  air  so  skeered. 

ADAM    (taking  her  hand,  at  the  same  time  glancing 
apprehensively  toward  the  house)  : 
Mazie,  what  is  the  matter? 

MAZIE  : 

I  don't  know.  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  think 
I  see  a  light.  I  think  somethin'  air  goin'  to  shine 
like  the  biggest  star — an'  then  it  only  gits  black- 
er'n  it  was  afore.  Oh,  Adam,  YOU  don't  know 


76  WILD  BIRDS 

how  I  cry  at  night  an'  try  to  stop  an'  shake  the 
bed  till  I  know  somebody  will  hear  me. 

ADAM   (fearfully)  : 

W-what  is  it — do  you  think — makes  you  cry  at 
night  ? 

MAZIE   (wonderingly)  : 

I  don't  know,  Adam — but  it  air  like  somethin' — 
somethin'  creepin'  on  me — in  the  dark.  Some- 
thin'  I  can't  see — somethin'  skeery — somethin'  I 
hev  never  seen  afore. 

ADAM   (his  tongue  thick)  : 

Do — do — you   think — do   you   think 

MAZIE  : 

What,  Adam?  Yer  hand  air  tremblin'.  What, 
Adam? 

ADAM   (turning  away)  : 
How  kin  I  say  it? 

MRS.  SLAG  (from  the  house)  : 
Mazie !     Mazie ! 

MAZIE  : 

I  air  comin'.  (to  ADAM)  I'll  go  quick.  If  she 
sees  us  together  she  will  tell  Slag  an'  he  will  whip 
you  agin  like  he  did  when  we  ran  away.  He  said 
if  he  ever  whipped  you  agin  he  would  do  more'n 
hurt  yer  leg.  He  said  he  would  kill  you.  (She 
lifts  up  the  bucket.) 

ADAM   (hopelessly)  : 

I  don't  care  if  he  does  kill  me. 

MAZIE  : 

Oh,  Adam,  don't.  An'  think  of  me  all  alone 
here— 


ACT  3-SCENE  1  77 

ADAM  : 

You  was  alone  afore  I  came.     It  was  better. 
MAZIE   (looking  at  him  with  yearning  eyes)  : 

Oh,  don't  say  that. 
ADAM    (indistinctly)  : 

Christ!     Christ!     (He  exits,  running.') 

(Enter  CORIE  on  the  road  from  the  right.  She 
walks  ^vith  determination,  a  defiant  pugnacious 
lift  to  her  chin.  Her  eyes  are  hard  and  her  thin 
mouth  a  straight  line.  She  carries  a  roll  of 
clothing  under  her  arm.  She  pauses  a  moment 
by  the  fence  and  looks  back  toward  the  POLLARD 
farm.  Her  head  tosses.  She  turns  and  comes 
inside  the  fence.  She  is  almost  to  the  house  when 
MAZIE,  who  has  been  watching  her,  calls  to  her.) 

MAZIE: 

Corie !     Corie ! 

CORIE  (turning  sharply)  : 
Waal? 

MAZIE  (crossing  to  her)  : 

Kin — kin  I  ask  you  something  Corie? 

CORIE  : 

You  jest  go  about  yer  own  business.  I  hev  got 
lots  of  trouble  an'  no  time  to  talk  with  you. 
(furiously)  Questions!  Questions!  Questions! 
Questions!  Can't  you  see  I'm  sick?  Can't  you 
see  I'm  ready  to  holler !  Go  away  from  me ! 
(Sinking  on  a  bench  near  the  house.)  Can't  you 
see  I  hain't  in  any  condition  to  listen  to  fool 
questions !  Oh,  Lors,  my  head.  Go  way !  Go 
away ! 


78  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE   (helplessly  drawing    back)  : 

I  air  sorry.  I  air  sorry  your  head  aches  (pushing 
back  her  hair  from  her  brow).  So  does  mine. 
An'  both  our  cheeks  are  red. 

(Enter  MRS.  SLAG  from  the  house.  MAZIE  leans 
against  the  fence  in  the  shadow.  She  looks  on, 
puzzled  yet  sensing  something  that  will  bring  the 
revelation.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Corie.  I  thought  that  was  you  comin'  across  the 
field  but  I  warn't  sure.  I  seen  you  from  the 
winder.  Why,  what's  wrong?  You  look  so — 
an'  them  clothes — 

CORIE  : 

I  hev  left  Milt  Pollard's  house.  I  will  not  go 
back  to  it  agin  while  that  maw  of  his'n  air  thar. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Oh,  Corie,  what  will  yer  paw  say?  He  will  be 
awful  mad. 

CORIE  : 

I  do  not  care.  I  will  not  stay  under  the  same 
roof  with  that  woman.  I  hate  her !  I  hate  her 
like  pizen !  (She  begins  to  cry.) 

MRS.  SLAG: 

Corie.  It  must  be  awful  bad.  It  hain't  like  you 
to  cry.  You  air  like  me.  You  don't  cry  so  easy. 
(She  strokes  CORIE'S  forehead.)  Dearie,  you  air 
all  hot.  You  hain't  well.  Corie,  don't  you  feel 
well? 

CORIE  : 

I    hev   had   a   few    spells.      She   got   up   then   an' 


ACT  3— SCENE  1  79 

wanted  to  help  but  I  wouldn't  let  her.  I  wouldn't 
let  her  touch  me ! 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

It  air  true  what  you  thought  then? 

CORIE   (wiping  her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand; 
then  looking  at  her  mother)  : 
Yes,  I  air  gohr  to  hev  a  baby,  but  I  air  goin'  to 
hev    it    here,    not    at    that    house    whar    she    air. 
Come  on  in,  maw,  I  air  cold. 

MRS.  SLAG  (going  into  the  house  with  her)  : 

It  air  gettin'  warmer,  like  rain,  but  it  air  natural 
fer  you  to  feel  cold.  (As  they  e.vit)  :  Hev  you 
felt  a  stirrin'  yet,  Corie? 

CORIE: 

Yes.  Night  afore  last  I  felt  a  stirrin'.  (They 
e.vit.) 

(MAZIE,  wide-eyed,  comes  down  to  the  steps.  She 
stands  there  a  moment  looking  into  the  house, 
listening  for  any  further  conversation.  Then  she 
whirls  about,  a  strange  glow  of  daii'ninq  under 
standing  on  her  face,  her  lips  parted.) 

MAZIE   (whispering)  : 

A  stirrin' — a  stirrin'  in  the  night — I  know — I 
know — a  stirrin' — a  stirrin' — (calling)  Adam — 
Adam — I  know — I  know  now  what  it  air!  (She 
takes  a  few  wavering  steps.  Her  knees  give  way 
under  her.  She  falls  in  a  faint  on  the  ground.) 

(ADAM  enters  from  the  well,  running.  He  lifts 
MAZIE  in  his  arms.  He  turns  this  way  and  that, 
trying  to  decide  what  to  do.  Then  he  starts  in 
the  direction  of  the  well.  JOHN  SLAG  enters  by 
the  road.) 


80  WILD  BIRDS 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Here  thar !     What  air  you  doin'? 
ADAM  : 

Mazie  has   fainted.     I  air  takin'  her  to  the   well 

to  git  some  water. 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Give  her  to  me.     You  go  an'   shet  up  the  cows. 

It   air   goin'   to   rain.    (JOHN    SLAG   takes   MAZIE 

who  moves  in  his  arms.) 
MAZIE  (coming  back)  : 

Adam — Adam — the  stirrin' 

JOHN  SLAG: 

What  air  she  talkin'  about? 
ADAM  : 

I  don't  know. 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Hurry  with  them  cows.     Thar's  the  first  drop  of 

rain.     (ADAM  exits.} 
(JOHN   SLAG  carries  MAZIE  toward  the  house.     She 

fights  her  way  back,  struggling  violently  zvith  her 

arms. ) 

(CURTAIN) 

ACT  3. 
SCENE  2. 

SCENE  2. — ADAM'S  room  in  the  attic,  a  little  before 
dawn,  the  next  morning.  It  is  a  bare  room  ivith 
a  chuck  mattress  on  the  floor  in  one  corner;  an 
old  rocker  with  broken  arms,  down  center;  a  box 
for  a  table,  right,  on  which  is  a  glass  lamp  with 
a  blackened  chimney;  a  cracked  mirror  hanging 


ACT  3— SCENE  2  81 

on  the  wall  over  the  box  and  a  rag  rug  on  the 
floor.  Left,  in  the  floor,  is  a  hole  through  which 
one  climbs  on  a  ladder  from  the  room  below.  A 
small  ivindoiv  is  back  center,  the  roof  sloping 
down  on  each  side  of  it. 

As  the  curtain  rises  the  room  is  almost  black.  Rain 
is  heard  on  the  roof  but  as  the  act  progresses  and 
dawn  struggles  in,  the  rain  gradually  ceases  and 
only  the  drip,  drip  of  it  from  the  caves  is  heard. 

ADAM  is  lying  on  the  chuck  mattress  without  the 
quilt  thrown  over  Jiim.  He  has  not  taken  off 
his  clothes.  He  lies  flat  on  his  back,  his' arms 
stretched  out,  his  eyes  open.  He  has  been  in 
this  position  practically  all  night.  Now,  as  the 
feel  of  daivn  is  near,  he  sits  up  and  crawls  to  the 
hole  in  the  floor  and  listens  down  the  ladder. 
Hearing  nothing,  he  goes  to  the  small  window 
and  looks  out,  remaining  there  for  a  moment, 
trying  to  pierce  the  blackness.  Then  he  comes  to 
the  box  and  lights  the  lamp  which  gives  but  a 
feeble,  flickering  light  and  throws  the  bov's 
shadow  on  the  wall,  the  slant  of  the  roof  break 
ing  it.  The  shadow  is  like  a  great  ogre,  hunch 
backed.  Having  lighted  the  lamp,  not  knowing 
why  he  has  done  it,  he  wanders  about  the  room, 
limping  quite  noticeably.  Once  he  pauses  and 
studies  himself  in  the  mirror.  His  face  is  lined 
and  he  looks  much  older.  He  could  easily  be 
taken  for  a  man  in  the  last  twenties.  Suddenly 
he  hears  someone  coming  cautiously  up  the  ladder. 
He  blows  out  the  light  and  throws  himself  once 
more  on  the  chuck  mattress,  pulling  the  quilt 


82  WILD  BIRDS 

over  him.  The  steps  on  the  ladder  falter,  then 
continue.  MAZIE' s  head  appears  through  the  hole 
in  the  floor.  She  looks  about  and  whispers. 

MAZIE  : 

Adam,  air  you  awake?     Adam — Adam — 

(ADAM  sits  up.) 

MAZIE  (stepping  up  on  another  rung)  : 
Air  you  awake,  Adam? 

ADAM    (whispering  hoarsely)  : 

Mazie,  you  must  not  come  up  here !  Mazie,  you 
must  not ! 

MAZIE: 

I've  got  to,  Adam.  I've  jest  got  to.  (She 
scrambles  up.  Her  hair  is  hanging  in  a  great 
cloud  about  her.  She  seems,  in  the  half-light,  to 
be  nothing  but  a  moving  cloud  of  hair.) 

ADAM   (coming  to  her)  : 

Mazie,  please  go  down.  They  will  hear  you. 
Something  awful. will  happen  if  they  hear  you. 
Please  go  down. 

MAZIE  (clinging  to  him)  : 

I  stayed  awake  all  night  waitin'  fer  a  chance  to 
come  up.  Seemed  like  they  never  would  git  to 
sleep.  Auntie  Martie  turned  over  an'  over.  Corie 
cried  a  heap.  Now  she  air  quiet.  They  air  all 
quiet.  Oh,  Adam,  I  had  to  come  an'  tell  you 
this — I  jest  had  to.  Don't  turn  away  from  me. 

ADAM   (looking  fearfully  into  her  face)  : 
What — is  it — Mazie? 

MAZIE  : 

I  hev  found  out  why  I  hev  cried  at  night — an' 
what  it  air  that  air  creepin'  on  me — in  the  dark. 


ACT  3— SCENE  2  83 

(with   a   little   tilt   of   her   chin)      An'    I   air   not 

askeered,  anymore! 
ADAM   (bracing  himself)  : 

W-what  is  it,  Mazie? 
MAZIE  (trying  to  see  his  eyes)  : 

I  air  goin'  to  hev  a  baby — like  Corie  air.     When 

I  first   found   out   I   don't   know   what   happened. 

The   prairie   seemed   like   it   turned   upside   down. 

Everything  got  black.     I  did  not  know  anything. 

When   I   came   back   I   was   on   the   floor   in   the 

kitchen.      Auntie   Martie   was   throwin'   water   on 

me.     After   that,    I   went   around   singin',   "Little 

Indian  Baby  in  the  Corn,"  that  song  of  Sandy's. 

I   went  around   singin'   it — Oh,   not   out  loud — to 

myself,  deep  down.     I  was  glad.     I  was  glad  to 

know  something  that  they  didn't  know.     I  wanted 

to  tell  you  right  away.     I  wanted  you  to  know — 

but  not  them. 
ADAM  (through  tense  lips)  : 

Jesus — Jesus — 
MAZIE  : 

Why  do  you  talk  like  that?     Why  do  you   say, 
Jesus — Jesus  ? 
ADAM  : 

We  air  bad,  Mazie.     We  air  bad. 
MAZIE  : 

Bad?     Why  air  we  bad?     Tell  me— Why  air  we 

bad? 
ADAM  : 

/  air  bad,   Mazie — not  you.     /  air   the  bad  one. 

You  wasn't  to  blame.     It  was  me.     /  air  the  bad 

one. 


84  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE   (bewildered  and  speaking  in  a  shrill,  quiver 
ing  voice)  : 

Bad!  Bad!  What  air  bad?  Oh,  Adam,  what 
air  bad?  Air  little  babies  bad?  Air  love  bad? 
Oh,  what  air  bad? 

ADAM  : 

Shh — shh — You  will  wake  them  up.  You  know 
what  will  happen  if  you  wake  them  up. 

MAZIE   (hysterical,  throwing  herself  upon  him]  : 
Tell  me  things !     I  cannot  go  on  like  this.     Tell 
me  things ! 

(The  tarnished  silver  of  a  rainy  dawn  comes  through 
the  little  window.) 

ADAM  : 

I  cannot  tell  you  things,  Mazie.  I  air  all  mixed 
up  myself.  I  don't  know  what  air  bad  things  an' 
what  air  good  things.  I  air  all  mixed  up  myself. 

MAZIE  (like  a  hunted  thing)  : 

What  kin  we  do,  Adam  Whar  kin  we  go  ?  Look ! 
It  air  gettin'  light.  Kin  we  try  runnin'  away 
agin?  Kin  we  try  gettin'  home  to  your  maw 
agin  ? 

ADAM    (hopelessly)  : 

It  hain't  no  use.  They  found  us  afore  an'  that 
was  in  summer  when  the  roads  was  good.  After 
this  rain — we  couldn't.  You  must  go  down.  They 
will  begin  gettin'  up.  Go  down,  Mazie. 

MAZIE   (still  clinging  to  him)  : 
I   cannot,   Adam — I  cannot 

ADAM  : 

Please — please  go  down,  Mazie.  You  must  mind 
me !  If  you  had  minded  me  that  night — if  we  had 


ACT  3— SCENE  2  85 

gone   on   without   stoppin'    to    rest — maybe — may 
be — Waal,   it's  too  late,  now,   anyhow.     Please — 

please  go  down,  Mazie. 
(He  steps  back,  away  from  her.    His  foot  bumps  the 

old  rocker  and  it  falls  with  a  clatter  to  the  floor.) 
MAZIE  : 

Oh! 
ADAM  : 

Sshl 
(They  stand  perfectly  still,  every  muscle  taut.     There 

is  a  tense  pause  broken   by  the  startled  voice  of 

MRS.  SLAG  dozvn  stairs.) 
MRS.  SLAG  : 

John  !     John  !     Did  you  hear  that  ? 
JOHN  SLAG   (replying  gruffly}  : 

I  air  gettin'  up  to  look. 
CORIE'S  VOICE: 

It  sounded  like  something  Tallin'  in  the  attic,  maw. 

(Another    pause.      Footsteps    are    heard    crossing 

the  floor  down  stairs.) 
MRS.  SLAG: 

John !      Oh,   John !      Mazie   air   gone   out   of   her 

bed  !     John  !       They  hev  run  away  agin ! 
CORIE  : 

Look  in  the  attic,  paw ! 
(ADAM  and  MAZIE  run  to  the  chuck  mattress.     They 

throw  themselves  down.     ADAM  is  quite  covered 

by  MAZIE'S  hair.) 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Kin  you  find  the  lantern,  John? 
JOHN  SLAG: 

I  hev  lit  it. 


86  WILD  BIRDS 

(Heavy  steps  arc  heard  on  the  ladder  rungs.  MAZIE 
and  ADAM  draw  closer  together.  JOHN  SLAG'S 
great  hand  appears  through  the  hole,  holding  a 
lantern.  His  head  and  his  bull-like  neck  and 
huge  shoulders  follow.  For  a  moment  he  blinks 
and  stares  about  him.  His  shadow  almost  fills 
the  room.  Then  he  sees  ADAM  and  MAZIE  hud 
dled  on  the  mattress.) 

JOHN  SLAG  (bellowing)  : 

Straight  to  Hell  with  you  both!  (He  fairly 
leaps  up  the  remaining  ladder  rungs  and  stands 
on  the  attic  floor.) 

MRS.  SLAG  (on  the  first  ladder  rung)  : 
Air  they  thar,  John? 

JOHN  SLAG: 

They  air  here!  (He  stands  glaring  at  them,  a 
slow,  cruel  smile  broadening  on  his  lips.  He  is 
gloating  over  them,  his  hammer-like  fists  tightly 
clenched.  The  lantern  flickers  at  his  feet.) 

ADAM   (trying  to  find  zvords)  : 
Mr.  Slag — Mr.  Slag — 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Shet  your  mouth : 

(He  advances  on  them.  ADAM  springs  up  and  stands 
before  MAZIE.) 

ADAM  : 

Don't  hurt  her.  She  hain't  to  blame.  It's  me 
that  air  bad.  I  knew  all  the  bad  things.  Mazie 
didn't  know  nothin'.  Don't  hurt  her ! 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Shet  yer  mouth,  I  tell  you!  (He  hits  him. 
ADAM  reels;  catches  himself  and  stands  swaying. 


ACT  3— SCENE  2  87 

MAZIE  whimpers  and  rolls  up  in  a  little  ball  on 

the  mattress.} 
JOHN  SLAG   (to  MAZIE)  : 

You  git  up  an'  go  down  stairs. 
(MAZIE  rises.) 
MRS.   SLAG   (her  head  appearing   through  the  hole)  : 

What  did  I  allus  say?     She  air  another  like  her 

maw! 
JOHN   SLAG   (taking  a  strand  of  her  hair  in  his  fist 

and  crumpling  it)  : 

I'd   like   to   hang   you   by   your'n   hair,    you    slut ! 

Maybe   I   will,   on   the   tree   over   the   well,    after 

I'm  done  with  him    (indicating  ADAM). 
MAZIE   (suddenly  dropping  to  her  knees)  : 

Dear    God    in   the    sky — don't    let    him — don't    let 

him  hurt  us — 
JOHN  SLAG  (raising  his  nst  above  her  bowed  head)  : 

Shet  up — damn  you  ! 
ADAM    (jumping  forward  in   an  attempt  to  stop  the 

fist  from  falling  on  M AZIE'S  head)  : 

Don't  hurt  her !     Don't  hurt  her !     She  air  goin' 

to  hev  a  baby.     Don't  hurt  her! 
MRS.  SLAG  : 

Oh,  Lors!     Lors ! 
JOHN  SLAG  (in  a  terrible  voice)  : 

Go  down  stairs !     Both  of  you  go  down  stairs ! 
MRS.  SLAG   (disappearing)  : 

I   allus  said  no  good   could  come   from   either  of 

'em.     I  allus  said  it.     (She  exits.) 
(MAZIE  silently  goes  to  the  ladder  and  climbs  down 

out  of  sight.) 


88  WILD  BIRDS 

ADAM  (as  he  follows  her)  : 

I  wanted  to  marry  her.  You  wouldn't  let  me.  I 
knew  the  bad  things — an'  an'  she  didn't.  I 
wanted — I  wanted — 

JOHN  SLAG: 

Go  down  stairs ! 

(ADAM  climbs  down  the  ladder.  The  dead  silver  of 
daivn  brightens.  JOHN  SLAG  stands  clenching  and 
unclenching  his  hands.  Because  of  the  sloping 
roof  he  stoops  from  the  waist.  His  arms  dangle 
down.  In  that  small  room  he  looks  like  some 
colossal,  half-beast  man.  Slowly  his  cruel  smile 
widens.  He  turns  toward  the  ladder.) 

(THE  CURTAIN  FALLS) 


ACT  3. 

SCENE  3. 

SCENE  3. — The  outside  of  the  house  again,  about  ten 
minutes  later.  Beyond  the  prairie  the  dawn  is  a 
jagged  rent  of  silver  in  the  gray  cloth  of  the 
sky.  The  wet  earth  is  black.  The  eaves  of  the 
house  drip  water.  Before  the  curtain  rises  the 
bloivs  of  a  raw-hide  zvhip  are  heard  falling  on  a 
human  body. 

The  curtain  rises  and  in  silhouette  against  the  silver 
rent  of  dawn,  JOHN  SLAG  is  seen  standing  over 
ADAM  who  lies  on  the  ground.  JOHN  SLAG'S 
arm  is  raised  to  strike  once  more.  MRS.  SLAG 
and  CORIE  stand  on  the  steps  of  the  house. 


ACT  3— SCENE  3  89 

MRS.  SLAG   (fearfully)  : 

John,  you  air  killin'  him. 
CORIE  : 

He  hain't  makin'  any  more  noise. 
MRS.  SLAG  : 

You   better   stop,   John.     You   don't   want  to  kill 

him. 
CORIE  : 

They'll  jail  you,  paw. 
JOHN  SLAG  : 

Shet  up !     I  know  what  I'm  doin'. 
(His  arm  drops  down.     He  prods  ADAM  in  the  ribs 

with  the  toe  of  his  boot.     ADAM  does  not  move.) 
JOHN  SLAG: 

Yes,  I  reckon  you've  got  enough. 
MRS.  SLAG  (coming  down  the  steps)  : 

He's  senseless,  hain't  he? 
JOHN  SLAG  (stooping  over  him)  : 

Yes. 
CORIE  : 

You're  sure  it  hain't  nothin'  worse? 
JOHN  SLAG  (rising)  : 

An'  if  it  is?     Don't  he  belong  to  me?     Can't  I  do 

what  I  want  with  him? 
MRS.  SLAG: 

You  can't  kill  anybody,  John. 
(MAZIE,  who  has  only  been  held  back  by  the  women 

at  the  door,  now  enters  running  from  the  house. 

She  hurls  herself  down   beside   ADAM   and   takes 

his  head  in  her  lap.) 
MAZIE  : 

Adam — Adam — my  boy — Adam — 


90  WILD  BIRDS 

MRS.  SLAG  : 

We  told  you  to  stay  in  the  house! 

MAZIE  (unheeding)  : 

Adam — Oh,  you  air  cold,  Adam! 

(The  rent  over  the  prairie  becomes  wider  and  more 
light.) 

JOHN  SLAG  (putting  his  hand  on  MAZIE'S  shoulder)  : 
Leave  him  be!  (ADAM'S  head  stirs  in  MAZIE' s 
lap.) 

ADAM   (in  a  voice  that  comes  from  far  off)  : 

Air  this  star-fires — under  my  head — or  air  it — 
Mazie's  lap? 

CORIE   (with  relief)  : 

He  air  speakin'.     He  air  not  dead. 

(JOHN  SLAG  takes  his  hand  from  MAZIE'S  shoulder.) 

MAZIE  : 

It  air  Mazie's  lap,  Adam. 

ADAM  : 

Oh,  Mazie — little  Mazie — We  kin  git  home,  now 
— to  my  mother.  See  how  fast  we  air  goin' — 
over  the  prairie — walkin'  through  the  star-fires 
an'  the  long  grass.  They  can't  catch  us — this 
time.  No  !  Don't  stop — please  don't  stop — Mazie, 
air  he  heavy  ?  Let  me  carry  him,  Mazie — He  air 
mine  like  he  air  your'n.  Oh,  he  air  light — light — 
Look  Mazie — that  air  it — that  air  it — 

MAZIE   (bending  over  him)  : 
What,   Adam? 

ADAM  : 

Home — the  winder — Here's  the  field  whar  I  used 
to  plow — Thar's  Sport — my  dog — He's  comin'  to 
meet  me — Hello,  Sport— Down,  Sport — 


ACT  3— SCENE  3  91 

MAZIE: 

Adam — Adam — 

ADAM  : 

Look — look — Thar's  maw — sittin'  on  her  hair, 
jest  like  a  little  queen — Maw!  Maw!  Here's 
Mazie  !  Mazie — an'  him — our'n  baby — Mazie,  meet 
maw.  Don't  she  kiss  like  a  little  queen?  She  air 
a  queen — sittin'  in — the  winder — on  her'n  hair. 
Look,  Mazie,  how  she  holds  him.  She  air  glad — 
She  air  glad — She  knows  what  air  good — the  little 
queen — 

(Blood  rushes  from  his  mouth.  His  head  rolls  down 
in  MAZIE'S  lap.  He  dies.  The  dawn  opens  out 
like  a  great  silver  window.} 

MAZIE   (piteously)  : 
Adam — my  Adam — 

CORIE   (shrilly)  : 

You  hev  killed  him,  paw ! 

MAZIE: 

Adam — speak  some  more — 

JOHN  SLAG  (bending  over  the  bo\  and  then  drawing 
back)  : 

I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him.  I  jest  wanted  to  make 
him  sorry  fer  what  he  done.  I  didn't  mean  to 
kill  him.  You  know  that,  Martie — Corie — I 
didn't  mean  to  kill  him!  (attempting  to  control 
himself)  Waal,  anyhow,  he  deserved  it — wrongin' 
a  little  gal — a  little  gal  who  didn't  know  nothin' ! 
He  deserved  killin' — even  if  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
it — wrongin'  a  poor  little  gal.  Git  up,  Mazie. 
We  won't  hurt  you.  Git  up,  Mazie.  Wrongin' 
a  poor  little  gal  like  you — (He  raises  her  gently.) 


92  WILD  BIRDS 

MAZIE  : 

Let  me  go — please — 

(Something  in  the  dead  tone  of  her  voice  makes 
JOHN  SLAG  take  his  hands  from  her.  She  silently 
walks  away  in  the  direction  of  the  well.  JOHN 
SLAG,  MRS.  SLAG  and  CORIE  look  after  her.  She 
exits  slowly,  her  hair  hiding  her  face.) 

CORIE  : 

Don't  let  her  go  away  alone  like  that. 

MRS.  SLAG: 

She  air  stoppin'  by  the  well.  She  allus  liked  that 
well.  Let  her  stay  thar  fer  awhile. 

CORIE  : 

Sun's  comin'  up.     Oh,   I  can't  look  at  him ! 

JOHN  SLAG: 

We've  got  to  put  him  some  place.  Whar  kin 
we  put  him?  Nobody'll  know  nothin'  about  him. 
He  belonged  to  me.  I  took  him  from  the  reform 
school.  I  gev  him  a  good  home  an'  what  did 
he  do?  He  wronged  a  little  gal.  Whar  kin 
we  put  him?  Nobody'll  know. 

(Enter  by  the  road,  from  the  left,  "GEORGE  MARSHALL. 
He  wears  a  raincoat  over  a  suit  of  cheap  store 
clothes.  He  leans  on  the  fence  and  looks  at  the 
group.) 

CORIE  : 

Thar's  thick  places   in  the  willers. 

JOHN  SLAG: 

No.     The  creeks  air  risin'. 

MRS.  SLAG  (suddenly  seeing  MARSHALL)  : 

John,  somebody  air  watchin'  us  from  the  fence. 
Oh,  John,  it  air  that  hired  man,  George  Marshall! 


ACT  3— SCENE  3  93 

JOHN  SLAG  (trying  to  hide  ADAM'S  body  by  stepping 

in  front  of  it)  : 

What  do  you  want  here,  George  Marshall?     You 

air  not  wanted  on  this  here  farm. 
GEORGE   MARSHALL    (coming    slowly   in    through   the 

fence)  : 

I  air  wantin'  to   see   Mazie. 
JOHN  SLAG: 

She  air  not  here.     She  air  gone  away.     You  git 

along   now.      We   hev   a   sick   boy   here.      He   air 

fainted  an'  I  air  takin'  him  inter  the  house.     You 

go  along  now.     (He  lifts  up  ADAM'S  body.) 
GEORGE    MARSHALL    (seeing    the    raw-hide    ivhip    on 

the  ground)  : 

You   hev   been   usin'   the   hoss   whip   on  this   boy, 

John  Slag,  like  you  tried  to  use  it  on  me ! 
JOHN  SLAG: 

I    hev    not.      You    git    along    an'    mind    yer    own 

business  if  you  know  what  air  good  fer  you. 
(He  walks  toward  the  house.) 
GEORGE  MARSHALL   (following  him)  : 

You  let  me  see  that  boy! 
CORIE  : 

You  git  out  of  here ! 
MRS.  SLAG: 

Git  out!      (She  snatches  up  the  raw-hide  whip.) 
GEORGE   MARSHALL    (getting   his   hand   on    the   boy's 

damp   head)  : 

Great  God!     You've  beaten  him  to  death! 
(MRS.   SLAG  rushes  at  him  with  the  ivhip.) 
GEORGE  MARSHALL   (wresting  it  away  from  her)  : 

You  she-devil !     You've  helped  him.     I'll  hev  the 


94  WILD  BIRDS 

lot  of  you  strung  up  fer  this!  (with  sudden  fear) 
Whar's  Mazie?  Hev  you  killed  her,  too?  Whar 
air  she? 

JOHN  SLAG  (putting  the  body  of  ADAM  on  the 
ground)  : 

It  whar  because  he  wronged  Mazie  that  I  whipped 
him.  I  jest  did  it  to  skeer  him  fer  wrongin' 
Mazie.  I  didn't  know  it  would  kill  him — 

GEORGE  MARSHALL: 

Whar  air  she?     What  hev  you  done  to  her? 

CORIE  : 

She  went  over  thar  to  the  well,  (looking  off) 
Thar  she  air.  No,  that  air  Sandy  Roberts  lookin' 
down  the  well.  How  did  he  git  out? 

GEORGE  MARSHALL  (half  to  himself  as  he  takes  a 
few  steps  toward  the  well)  : 

That  well — I  remember — she  said  it  was  round 
like  the  world.  It  was  awful  black — but  some 
times  she  saw  stars  in  it — I  wonder  if  she  saw 
my  face? 

(Enter  SANDY.  His  clothes  are  wet.  His  hair  is 
wildly  ruffled.  His  bare  feet  are  caked  with 
mud. ) 

SANDY   (his  eyes  burning)  : 

Mazie  has  jumped  down  the  well!  Mazie  has 
jumped  down  the  well! 

GEORGE  MARSHALL   (grasping  SANDY'S  arm)  : 
What  air   you   talkin'   about? 

SANDY : 

I  seen  her  jump.  I  was  goin'  to  surprise  her 
an'  tell  her  how  I  got  out  of  the  barn  an'  was 


ACT  3— SCENE  3  95 

in  the  rain  all  night.  He,  he,  it  was  grand  bein' 
in  the  rain  all  night — 

GEORGE  MARSHALL   (pushing  him  aside}  : 
Is  it  too  late  to  save  her? 

(He  exits  running  to  the  well.) 

SANDY    (looking  after  him)  : 

You'll  not  see  her.  It  air  dark  down  thar — 
darker'n  the  shed. 

JOHN  SLAG: 
Shet  up! 

(JOHN  SLAG,  MRS.  SLAG  and  CORIE  have  instinctively 
drawn  together  and  are  all  staring  off  toward 
the  well.) 

GEORGE  MARSHALL'S  VOICE   (calling  frantically  down 
the  well)  : 
Mazie !      Mazie : 

SANDY   (seeing  the  body  of  ADAM)  : 

What  air  the  matter,  young  chief?  Young  chief, 
you  can't  catch  her  now.  It  air  too  late.  You 
won't  even  see  her.  She  air  lost — down  the  well. 
It  air  dark  down  thar.  She  won't  like  it.  She 
liked  stars  an'  the  moon — Git  up,  young  chief — 
Git  up— 

GEORGE  MARSHALL   (re-entering)  : 

I  can't  see  her.  (pointing  a  finger  at  the  group) 
I  don't  know  the  truth  of  this,  but  I'll  find  out! 
You'll  hang,  John  Slag!  (The  SLAG  family  cower 
under  MARSHALL'S  accusing  finger)  She  was  given 
inter  your'n  hands  an'  she  could  hev  loved  you — 
Oh,  how  she  could  hev  loved  you — like  hern 
maw  could  love.  Her'n  maw — (almost  breaking). 


96  WILD  BIRDS 

She  was  mine  an'  I  didn't  know — I  didn't  know — 
(His  head  thrown  fiercely  back).  Oh,  Lord, 
forgive  me  that  day — that  day  I  would  not  give 
my  name — an'  from  that  day  she  walked  in  the 
dark — an'  her'n  baby  walked  in  the  dark.  (Tears 
stream  down  his  cheeks.  He  strikes  his  breast 
with  his  two  fists.)  Oh,  why  air  life  and  man 
so  cruel  ?  ( The  sun  begins  to  rise  above  the 
straight  line  of  the  prairie.  The  wet  soil  glistens. 
Birds  in  the  tree  over  the  well  begin  to  sing.) 

SANDY : 

Young  chief,  git  up !  The  sun  air  risin'.  The 
sun  air  risin'.  Foller  the  little  silver  fox  over 
the  prairie !  She  air  runnin'  fast — right  inter 
the  sun ! 

GEORGE  MARSHALL   (his  head  still  flung  back)  : 
The  sun  air  risin' — The  sun  air  risin' — too  late — 
too  late — 

(THE  CURTAIN  FALLS) 


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